where did the moon go?

eighteen.

i guess it's something in the swagger of his walk, how his pants don't quite fit him but still has an intriguing look to him, those old, dirty, beige-turned-brown shoes he wears that i like better than his new black-and-white shoes he wore today, the way his hat covers his hair even though he has soft, golden locks. maybe it's that i know that under that "brace" on his hand, he has thousands of cuts layered over each other. maybe it's the way his smile cracks even though he's not happy. maybe it's how his eyes watch me. it might be the way his finger traces shapes on my thigh in class when we should be taking notes. i take my notes. maybe it's the way he says my name. i suppose it's all of it.

maybe it could work.
maybe he could settle for me.
maybe i could settle for him.
maybe he will straighten out for me.
maybe i'll be his good girl gone bad.
maybe we are just strangers in the night.
maybe we would be perfect for each other,
maybe we would be absolute opposites.
maybe he could forget about her.
maybe i can finally get over the he-who-shall-not-be-named.
maybe i'll fix him.
maybe he'll break me.
maybe this is a waste of time.
maybe he is all i want to think about.