your love for me
has been diminishing.

and lately, your thoughts
seem to go unwritten.

you were once
the ponds in the Yosemite Park,
the kind so clear,
you could see straight through,
but now you're more like
the Atlantic Ocean,
deep, and dark,
with unimaginable creatures
lurking.

I'd never liked comparing you
to the negatives,
but that's all you seem to
agree with.

if you saw him on the street
you wouldn't glance twice
because he does not look extraordinary
and he does not make your heart
skip a beat

but
when you listen to the wonderful, tinkling sound
of his laughter
and his inexcusable, almost inappropriately funny remarks
and when you happen to be lucky enough
to catch him smiling when no one is watching; he makes
your head spin

he is not the most beautiful to the rest of the world
and his eyes do not compare to the brightest of stars, his
hair is not an ocean-type mess and his freckles are not like grains of sand

instead his eyes are like like warm hot chocolate when
you are barely awake and are trying to get through the day, his hair is the
disaster that you can't help but be captivated by and his freckles are like carefully placed light orange dots that seem to connect in a way

I do not see him on the street anymore--
and that is the reason that I no longer
drink hot chocolate and why I hate the color orange
because god, he was not the most beautiful boy in the world
and he wouldn't make a stranger's heart beat twice
but he made mine
and in the end,
that was all that really mattered