1
I watched him from behind my book,
curiosity pulling me from the pages.
Mellow music and coffee,
the hum of conversation all around.
He sits with his laptop—
in another world.
He is a sweet combination of hard and soft.
His big hands look awkward on the keys
and his hair falls in his eyes.
I long to feel his arms around me—
those hugs he passes out like candy,
so sweet.
He has no idea.
2
We are in the cafeteria and
7th grade awkwardness leaves the only seat open next to me.
He comes over and sits down, smiling.
We finish lunch and spend the rest of recess
playing one on one in the sun.
We did this every day for the rest of the year.
He had a girlfriend in 8th grade, but he was my friend.
His dark skin glistening in the heat,
laughing.
He had to move up north with his mom—
to be near the prison that held his dad.
Three years later we heard he had died.
3
I wait for his Camaro to pull up to the gym.
The rain is pouring down as I stand under the eaves.
He trots over—rain dripping from his hair and drops on his lashes.
Bending to give me a kiss.
We play for hours,
I can never beat him, but I continue to think it's possible.
I feel his body, watch his muscled arms reach over me,
another damn basket.
I get frustrated and mad,
and he loves it.
Until I beat him at Horse
and the roles reverse.
4
We are back at home—showered and hanging out.
What to do tonight?
We waste hours, just being together,
trying to come up with something and eventually doing nothing.
We stand on the porch saying goodbye.
My mom flashes the porch light—
time for him to go.
I watch him drive away.
He never drove back and I never expected him to.
5
My college boys threw the word around like a football—it is a game to too
many of them. They haven't the slightest grasp on LOVE.
I gave my heart too easily and my trust completely.
Both of those boys were eerily similar
and the outcomes practically identical.
They broke my heart and stomped on my pride.
Let me down when I thought they were so much more.
My sisters tell me I deserve better,
my mom worries that I am too trusting.
Emotions that soared to the brink of utter completeness—
and so quickly plunged into the depths of that dark place
of hurt and anger.
Astonishment at the ability of another being to strike my heart with such
force—at my ability to be so open to the blow.
6
He is different, this one.
More than I've ever known a man to be.
Complex and talented,
Open and sincere.
I love to make him laugh—sometimes I make it my mission.
He looks up for the first time from his laptop.
He seems to let his eyes focus on me,
like he just arrived from a far off country.
Then his mouth moves into that smile and
those big hands beckon me to join him,
but I smile back and shake my head—
nodding to my book and those pages that,
because of him,
are still unread.
