Evan
The 'stache was coming in nice and three oranges later, you emerged, hating it with a new clean cut. Sky blue. Any shirt but sky blue. It brought your eyes out and made her go, "Goddamn." You stunned me, more than I thought and suddenly made all my fears disappear with a "Hey, stranger." Called you at ten to say.... April 1st. But turns out it was just another lousy holiday to you. Maybe that was your cruel joke to me. Didn't think I'd follow through and your right, I didn't. But it's not cause of you or her or the sun or my moon -- it's cause of this world. And all its goodness and torture and mercy and cruelty. I thought about your complexities and questioned myself on my love for you. I can't say it out loud; it's forced. I can't say it silently; it feels wrong. I can't even pray it cause it's like feeding the devil. And so I will stop lying, and let go. I like my scars. I don't have a cause but a cut. I have a hard time stopping but that, I will some day do. I will see you again. I will hear about you again. I will never stop knowing you ever again. It cannot be changed but it can be mended. I'm scared but I am somehow incredibly optimistic. Why? Because I cannot wait to fall in love. So surely and perfectly like all the tales told from the sunflowers and daisies and the miscellaneous maybes. I cannot wait. I know I deserve it and I feel myself getting nervous at the thought but I cannot wait. I cannot wait for someone to touch my first wounds like I touched yours and ask me their story. Their eyes only wanting truth. I cannot wait for their love for me to hurt. I cannot wait for them to pry at my walls. I guess... I can't wait to be you. I can't wait to be a mystery: so carefree and loved and wanted and guarded. A dangerous wish and it'll happen but first I gotta break and bend and die before I can be reborn again. It hurts like hell but it'll be alright, I suppose. I'm sorry I didn't mean to laugh but now I've realized maybe you've been helping me all along; it just wasn't what I was expecting. So thank you, Evan. Thank you and maybe... Just maybe, I can learn to forgive you in another life.
Goodbye.
YOU ARE READING
How I Love You
Poetry". . . . Then must you speak / Of one that lov'd not wisely but too well; / Of one not easily jealous, but being wrought, / Perplex'd in the extreme. . . ." -Act 5, Scene 2 of Othello by W. Shakespeare A collection of poems to the boys and men I hav...
