unspoken

the first poem i wrote was not about you

tomorrow i'll be wearing a white plain shirt, that i wore on my godfather's funeral i almost attend to--i didn't go because cemetery reminds me of buried hopes and promises of you.

dyed my hair black so that i won't be thinking of getting a haircut for a while.
monday's just another day of thinking how to start a conversation, words stacked in pile--
like the shirt you gave
and the songs we played
and the food we ate
in your exhaustless apartment

tuesday and i'll be in the city, i can still picture your house in the back of my mind
i'm not even thinking about it, just the thought of it reminds me of close spaces, and movie nights and big fights and broken tries and city lights and orange skies--
young love, chasing forever
it's been three years and
i still remember it all
it's not about the person at all,
it's the familiar feelings, incomparable.

so tomorrow i'll be wearing a white plain shirt, that brings back to the first poem i wrote, and it was not about you...just a scribble, collection of words stacked in pile--
about your teeth
and the gap in between whenever you smile.