i thought i would see you this weekend.
you weren't there.
you didn't call back.
i thought you would be there
i thought you would call.


but you *didn't.

i just had a fit of rage.
i have to work with a bull *******.
i have to make a presentation.
i broke my phone.


****.

you are lying down.
somewhere in east India.
you are on a soft mat,
under a door less roof.
the soft music of tablas
and the sitar
fill your ears.
you know you are at peace.
petals gently fall from the sky.
it is a warm fiery orange
evening.
the smell of curry
and roasting goat
fills your nose.
you
drift away,
into a deep sleep.

you are more
than a test score.
you are more
than a number.
you are more
than your resume.
you are more
than that 78 or 60 you got last quarter.
you are more.

im sitting here "doing" homework
thinking about the one.
the one that got away.
i met her at a party.
she likes doctor who.
i like doctor who.
i think she liked me.
i liked her.
but i may never get to see her.
she has no phone to call her on.
and im too embarrassed to tell the only person i know that has her contact info.



what do i do?

love is like a rose
it is sharp,
it is dangerous.
it can hurt
or
it can heal.

*inspired by Bette Midler's the rose