They all fade together, eventually
eventually, the years have parted like curtains
and i can see through the cracks who we used to be
independently and together,
mirror images of opposite truths.
the color turquoise is bright like that first year
and the scent of autumn
is rich like all the years following.
the last, grey and dusty,
but present, tangible still.
i got up so early to meet you.
the coffee i drank that morning
was bitter, the sugar didn't help
but i smiled into you
the sheer simplicity of those
nine freckles along the side of your cheek
a comfort, a force
driving me to insanity, to willpower
that year you had a jacket whose
hood you pulled over your head when it was raining
as it seemed always to be,
that year when we met in corners and cars and parking lots
and hid ourselves, slowly
drawing out further than we had planned
and that was the year you gave up running
and starting swimming
and learned how to drive a stick.
you were that summer. i was the sun.
that blue scent was always on your skin,
mixing with clover.
to this day, the smell of chlorine
draws me back to eighteen,
as though i might at any second see you emerge from the water,
hair dripping.
we circle each other, gently now
the past too strong of a force to allow us to part
and the present too strong of a force to allow us to unite.
you are as much a part of the fabric of my life
as anything else has been.
it has all come and gone
leases signed and broken, cigarettes smoked and regretted
choices made and abandoned.
you are a constant, a reminder
of the colors of the years i once knew,
the inescapable girl drowned in the mirror
a peek through the curtains i shut long ago.
your jacket only warms me now.
and i can see through the cracks who we used to be
independently and together,
mirror images of opposite truths.
the color turquoise is bright like that first year
and the scent of autumn
is rich like all the years following.
the last, grey and dusty,
but present, tangible still.
i got up so early to meet you.
the coffee i drank that morning
was bitter, the sugar didn't help
but i smiled into you
the sheer simplicity of those
nine freckles along the side of your cheek
a comfort, a force
driving me to insanity, to willpower
that year you had a jacket whose
hood you pulled over your head when it was raining
as it seemed always to be,
that year when we met in corners and cars and parking lots
and hid ourselves, slowly
drawing out further than we had planned
and that was the year you gave up running
and starting swimming
and learned how to drive a stick.
you were that summer. i was the sun.
that blue scent was always on your skin,
mixing with clover.
to this day, the smell of chlorine
draws me back to eighteen,
as though i might at any second see you emerge from the water,
hair dripping.
we circle each other, gently now
the past too strong of a force to allow us to part
and the present too strong of a force to allow us to unite.
you are as much a part of the fabric of my life
as anything else has been.
it has all come and gone
leases signed and broken, cigarettes smoked and regretted
choices made and abandoned.
you are a constant, a reminder
of the colors of the years i once knew,
the inescapable girl drowned in the mirror
a peek through the curtains i shut long ago.
your jacket only warms me now.