A string of unrequited loves
invade my mind amid restless sleep,
four AM dreams under starless skies occupied by
pretty schoolgirls with rosy cheeks.
Seven years flowed under the bridge,
yet one of the many unspoken faces stands out
uncloaked in the mist of corridors and the early stir
of shuffling feet and uniform skirts,
my breath catches in my throat as I think of her.
I think back to our interlacement inside those four solid walls,
how I had met you through gossiping whispers and scribbles on bathroom stalls,
our paths had crossed in late winters and spring,
but those summer conversations changed everything.
By now the details are coated in dust,
but I remember the shifting air around us
wrapping me in enchantment,
and I knew I hadn't known euphoria
until I'd tasted my name on your tongue,
and I've only ever been sober
but the sound of your voice could get me drunk.
You wore a shell unlike whatever held your notoriety
and I never saw it coming, like an English storm brewing,
getting caught in the middle of it all until
it became this game of counting midnights, pacing, waiting
for the day our fingerprints stamped the same staircase railing.
I'll bet my eyes that your deathless beauty is just as haunting
as it was when I looked up at your raven hair against jasmine skin
and eyes rimmed with shadows that got me thinking
how close can our skin skim before it gets too intimate?
Transposed to a time when
what made me float the most
were your glances,
brushing hands and
hugs between classes,
and all your excuses
for patching my bruises,
to wiping blue paint off the curves of your face
and suppressing the urge
to crop the space
between our flustered breaths and parting lips,
I'd still give anything to have that kiss.
These days, I recite your letters to my bedroom ceiling at every turn
and they echo back to me in harmonies, as sacred as scripture.
How do lost words in stale, stained ink still make me yearn, crash and burn
until I'm screaming to the sea before me that you slipped through my fingers?
In retrospect, I think it's fair if I called it love
and that's something I won't apologise for.
Perhaps someday, I could stand up with a hurdling heartbeat and tell you
that I loved you the way Emily loved Sue
in glistening pink, purple and blue.
Copyright © 2021 by S. Y. Kalindara. All rights reserved.
Apparently the major crush I had on this girl I knew back in highschool wasn't a phase. I'm bisexual, which isn't as hard to admit now, but it was back then. I was 14/15/16 & growing up in a really religious & homophobic region & all these thoughts I had, felt so shameful to me. I'll still never admit them to her even though I think she felt the same way, it still feels way too risky to say. And my sexuality is something I keep hidden when I'm back home but I feel comfortable sharing it online & in poems, so thank you for reading this if you've gotten this far. **
(P.S. you can follow me on instagram, if you'd like to @sykmusings ♡)