i have not quite learned,
to love,
or lose,
or myself

"these will be the best years of your life"
echo in my mind
over the sounds of my gasps
for air, in between tears-

sometimes from laughter,
sometimes,
more often, from loss,
or perspective of it.

pretending
"yes i love it"
"yes i'm having a good time"
is not convincing
me
the only person,
important in my own happiness;
the hero of my emotions

learning to say no, stop, over now
learning to contain
a shout, a judge, a scream
not quite, but a little bit

the [best] two years of my life
have now so suddenly received
a forecast of much rain and clouds
always on the brink of hail.

a tan couch in the middle of a messy college apartment
the tv starts playing arrested development

episode one
two hearts joined by two hands
under a tan couch pillow
no glances
a small secret
another separate heart beats on a separate chair

episode two
one of the joined hearts falls asleep
in the other's lap
at first, fake, to be closer
then real, but conscious
two hearts still connected by touch

episode three
the tv stops playing
the sleeping heart awakes
the separate heart leaves
it's just the two

they wait
one heart had been waiting for a moment like this
the other didn't know it was waiting too
as if a connection strengthened through feeling
was growing in its subconscious for days

several minutes pass
it's quiet
the hands still held under the pillow
the waiting heart turns
the subconscious heart turns

the moment
they stare into each other's eyes
straight into their souls
that look
the greatest look both hearts can know
a pause
a rush
they lean in

two days from a year
and it's still one of my favourite memories
i'll never forget that look
that face
before we leaned in

two hearts are no longer joined
here, almost a year off from that night
four months since the hearts separated
this rain pours like my soul through the cracks of my heart

the halls today are filled
of walking husks of people
heavy mutter clutter the air
all are looking feeble

textbook-laden brains
lips a-coffee stained
eyes manic to the brim
composure wearing thin

stress-filled laughters
litter conversations,
every word carry the burden
of hard sleepless nights

some are carefree
but most are buried inside the library
a last ditch effort to arm the cavalry
as the enemy nears the periphery

the bell rings loud
the masses resort to silence,
the death toll rang
all around the campus

as the door came crashing down
you can almost hear
the desperate souls' silent cries
as "FINALS" enter with a smile.

why does my jaw
drop at white guys
with joggers and
backwards baseball caps?
or at some basic uni boy
who hasn't got it
on with a black
girl yet...
why is it so
surprising to me
that they hit and run
and leave absolutely
nothing? yet they beg
me to stay when their exclusive
bae finds a new party
or some casual *******.