Senior Year.
This is it.
This is the last time I'll be in Highschool.
The last time I have to stay in this place.
The last time I'd wake up so early.
The last time I'd take the train going to school.
The last time I'd see the same faces.
The last time I'd ride the van back home.
The last time I'd see you.
You, who made me feel so different.
You, who I appreciated.
You, who I admired.
You, who I missed.
You....
who I nearly loved.
Deep down, you will always be in my heart.
Labeled as my nearly first love.
My unrequited one.
-The Weary Writer of Hearts to the clueless boy
YOU ARE READING
it's one-sided, so I'll hide it.
PoetryThings I'll never tell you, but share to the world in anonymity.
