I sleep in.
I skip class.
I don't feel like myself today.
My girl wants to go to the mall.
So we go to the mall.
I don't want to be there. Everything feels off.
She's more hyper than she's been, so that's a good sign right?
I take pictures of the jewelry the picks up or touches,
I try to make sure she doesn't notice what I'm doing.
Her birthday is coming up and so is Christmas.
I get a little excited.
I love making her things and buying her stuff when I can.
I'd buy her the world if I could.
_______________________________________________________________________________
We have to go back, I have friendsgiving with my scholarship group.
I brag on her. I love her.
We make jars with things we're grateful for.
"MY GIRL" is the first slip in the jar. I start to feel a little better. I can make it through a week.
________________________________________________________________________________
When I get back to her she's off.
Quiet.
We get high.
I look at her.
"Has the obsessive stage worn off?"
"What?"
"Do you like like like me or do you just like me?"
She sighs, "I'm just a girl."
I bring it up when our friend comes up to our room.
"Why can't I just like you or not like you?"
He makes us tell each other that we still like each other.
I feel she hates me as I lay there, trying to sleep.
YOU ARE READING
Her. (rough draft)
PoetryThis author has gone through the most brutal breakup she's ever endured, she needs an outlet. Enjoy