I’m one of those people where I truly believe I have the ability to fall in love with anyone. Okay, maybe not in love in love, but I’ll most definitely love them for them. I’m not necessarily saying I’ll love them eternally, someone would replace them eventually. Heck, I don’t even like the idea of having a time frame for love. But honestly, if you sit me down and tell me your story about how one time you saw a Mom pushing a toddler in a stroller and you felt really bad for the kid because she dropped her ice-cream cone on the ground and you offered to buy her another one, I’ll love you. Not in love with you, I just have a reason to love you now.
I think I just like people for the most ridiculous reasons. LIke everything seems so easy, but everything’s still really difficult. “Do you like this person?” “yah. I do.” “how about that person?” “I do,too.” “And him?” “Yah. They’re all pretty nice.”
I don’t fall in love. (nah.)
I’m just bitter and tired and I have a fucking exam tomorrow like
You race your brother to the park in your neighborhood.
Your father says you have five minutes before supper.
You don’t have a watch.
You count 300 seconds in your head.
You wonder if the sun moves to meet the horizon or if the horizon moves to meet the sun.
Your best friend jumps.
A girl you don’t like but are nice to because she doesn’t have many friends jumps.
You jump and hurt your wrist.
Your first crush wraps her hand around a bee that’s hiding in the chains.
Your legs brush tall, marshy reeds.
You sing the words to Just Around the Riverbend under your breath.
You imagine swinging over the top like gargling stardust.
You sit next to someone you think you love.
You think this moment is more poetic than it is.
You know you will write about it in your journal.
You do, but don’t write her well.
You sit next to someone you know you do not love but wish you did.
She swings hard and flings a shoe into the horizon.
She does not go looking for it.
You are with someone who is five years younger than you.
For the first time in your life, you feel old.
He asks you if you miss home and you don’t know how to respond.
You flip over backwards and land in a dust cloud.
You ask him for his initials.
You think about carving them into the wood or tattooing them to your palms.
He laughs and asks for a lighter.
Of all the times and of all the people, you like it best alone.
You wonder if you move to meet the sun or if the sun moves to meet you.
You write so beautifully,
the inside of your mind
must be a terrifying place