i can’t do this anymore.

my tears are made of paper and
origami cranes are floating down my cheeks;
your eyes have never looked so gold
and mine have never looked so grey,
something tells me those cranes aren’t
waterproof-
they are filling with water, disintegrating into
rivulets of water and paper
my eyes are hardening every time i look at you
while yours are melting;
my cranes no longer have the strength
to fly.
-a.c.b

i prematurely miss you,
dreading the day i no longer know you,
the day your heart no longer beats for me,
the day you no longer kiss my forehead
and twirl my hair around your finger
absentmindedly.
i dread the day you no longer tell me
“i love you”
at least 10 times a day,
(just in case i forget)
the day you no longer write poetry
inspired by me,
the day you no longer want to grow up and start a life in the city together,
grow old and live out one life together.
i dread the absence
of my name in your mouth,
your cologne in my sheets,
my clothes on your floor.
i dread the day
i no longer know you.
-a.c.b

Green goomba backpacks,
Extended busses,
The kids only ride one stop,
Folk music in my headphones,
Playing with the hopeful heat,
Of rainy day rides.
Where are we going?
On the one driving the bus knows,
And even they have their stop.
Societal soliloqal differences,
But here we are,
Cultural clashes melt away,
With,
"You can have my seat."
Falling into souls with just sideways glances,
Cases of, "what did you want to be when you grow up?"
****,
What did I want to be?
A longing nostalgia of places in memories that never existed,
Luckily,
The bus has no rearview mirrors.
Phoenix is grey,
So is Reno too,
Hawaii had it's days,
All have their riders,
And their drivers,
The stop is requested,
But I don't need to get off.