drift

17 2 5
                                        

⌠ 1 ⌡

There's always this push and pull.

We 

play tag

with our eyes.

She looks.

She doesn't.

It's so stupid

and somehow

so fun.


Sometimes, I can't stand it.


come with me to the festival


The words I can't say.


Yura sips her coffee,

empty sugar packets,

bent straws.

A sly glance.

Daring me.


I reach over

and flick her cup.


She gasps.

"How could you!"

The group laughs

as Yura wipes coffee from her nose.



Maybe

I'm fine

with this.

Just like this.




⌠ 2 ⌡

The days come and go,

drifting like clouds.


Every chat notification

every stupid joke,

every wave goodbye.


Our rhythm's a little off.

But

affection

blooms

from the small things.


I can almost see our movie poster.

Eri pinching Takeshi's ear

as he winces in pain,

loud as always.


Yura and me,

a few steps behind.


Her hair,

sometimes brushing

my arms.


This sunset,

a wash of orange and blue.

This is our color.




⌠ 3 ⌡

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