My handwriting looks like yours now,
tall and slender,
pencil lines arcing and tying each letter into the next.
You hugged me as you passed me in the hallway,
and I felt your stomach rise and fall with each breath,
felt your delicate hands trace my shoulder blades
and wondered,
do you love me?

I was sorry.
I thought I did not love you.
I am sorry I was wrong.

Hopes as high as a plane above the ocean, I dive,
ready to dance and to fight for your hand.
Jet-black waterfalls of your eloquent hair tumble in the October wind
as we stand, locked in each others' arms,
peering out through the roof of the limousine.
Purple sky, lyrics to a song;
I will remember this.

Christmas cookies--
I was about to let you know, but you are cold,
knowing your electric hands are lies
and it's best not to drive me any closer to the edge.
Valentine's day;
a card says “I love you” but I know you throw those words around like confetti,
to your family,
to your friends,
to the not-quite-your-friend who is clingy and annoying--
I still haven't learned my lesson.

Silence.
I've found someone else and I must turn away
or risk that you enchant me.
Our last goodbye, you cry and oh! your ride's here,
you have to go,
leaving me midsentence with a crowd of freshly graduated enemies.
I'd keep in touch, but it's not my place
and besides, you've deleted all your social media.
Still, I can bring you back, whenever I close my eyes:
a ghostly figure, half-transparent in the moonlight,
starry skin and midnight hair and those cursed hands that I can hold and that hold me
and I was right, you did love me, and we are one,
until I take one last look in your round, gentle eyes
and open mine
and you flicker out of existence.