A Sort Of Timeline


Week -

It is past two a.m. Her face is one of few with the lights still on, behind closed doors, five floors off the ground in a town people love to complain about but I can find everything I want right here. I was tired minutes ago but I am not leaving.

Week -5

We lie a foot apart and for once my sleep does not break.

Week -3

I have never been so content to forget about everything else just because I’m here.

Week -2

I wait for her come over?

Week 0

We are across the city, universe, apart.

A group of us sits on the pavement with popsicles welcoming the coming spring

and she is alone.

I am not thinking except of her.

Week 0

I sit on the floor and her mind pours a stream through my eyes.

Week 0

I should not even be the one crying.

Week 0

I kick myself for waiting, for not waiting, for being the distraction.

Week 0

She says it is a poetry sort of thing and I break.

Week 0

I don’t sleep much.

Week 1

She could light up a room or two.

Week 1

There is so much cutting ties

and I feel as if my words have stolen something from her.

Week 2

I wish I could do anything but pull away.

Week 3

I have never held anything as soft as her hand.

Week 3

Kissing her is a supernova.

Week 7


I don’t sleep much.

Week 7

I fall in love with her,

day by day.

Week 7

I wake up suddenly.

She is here.

It is strange that she’s here.

Week 54

She is still here.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 4/6/18

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