it's because i love you, you idiot.
that's why.
that's the reason for the lingering hugs,
for the long gazes,
for the secret smiles.
that's the reason why my camera roll is filled of pictures of you and none of me.
why, when we went to that art museum i ******* you about what I thought of those stupid paintings because they meant nothing to me and i couldn't even look at them when the most beautiful piece of artwork was standing right next to me:
You.
that was why i wouldn't let you see the photos i took that day because my lens never did find Van Gogh but instead found you.
but no matter how much i secretly write to you it will never be the same for you.
i bet your camera roll is filled of Picasso and Claude Monet and Édouard Manet because to you, they were the only artwork in the room.
they were what you stared agape at, head tilted, disbelief in your eyes,
when for me,
that was You.


― j.r.

sometimes
im surprised by the fact
that i didnt know
about that trip you took to italy
(third grade? was it in third grade? i dont know)
and that
i didnt know
the name
of the brother you never met
and that i sometimes dont know
what your actions mean
and then i remember
that it's only been two years.
two years since we properly met
and even less since we became friends,
and then best friends,
and then something more.
and that shocks me
because i dont remember a time without you there.
these two (or less) years have felt like an eternity
and ive realized that that's because when im with you
i feel immortalized
and that the reason i cant remember a life without you
is because you have always been there.
the person i used to dream of when i was young:
the person who would hold me in their arms,
the person who i would always be able to talk to,
the person who would always be there for me. . .
i didnt know it then: that person was going to be,
i know now: that person is,
i know i know i know: that person will forever be,
forever be
You.

―  j.r.

sometimes
i think that
we will never be like how they are on tv
ill never own a key to your house
ill never be able to just barge in unannounced
ill never be able to just sit at your dining room table and have a conversation with your mom
over mugs of hot
steaming
tea
but then i remember
that we are nothing like those on tv
we are so incredibly different:
we are real
and to be quite honest
i dont think id wish it any other way


― j.c.

it's the stupid things
like how when i had to draw a self portrait for art class
and i asked you if you had any candids of me. . .
you said no.

it's the stupid things
like how you'll take a while to respond to my texts
and leave me wondering
what i did

it's the stupid things
like how you don't call me by my name in conversation
but say her's like it's a holy word

it's the stupid things
like how when she talks
you look right up
but when i talk
your head stays down

it's the stupid things
like how you tag her first
and then me second
in those dog pictures
that we both like

it's the stupid things
like how you used to lift me up when we hugged
but now
my feet don't leave the ground

maybe they're not so much stupid things
but little things
that truly mean so much