I met a man two weeks into my
sophomore year.
He preferred instant
coffee to Starbucks, Doc Martens
to sneakers, yet, held
his best friends'opinions
higher than his own.
We skipped the sappy high
school phase; the holding
hands in the halls, sneaking
under the bleachers, we even passed
on the reminisce of a first date dance.
I awoke that morning to a notefolded so thoughtfully, creasedon his side:
I have a surprise waiting
just for you. See you tonight
at 7. I felt constant flutters until
I found myself in front of the TV.
In those few weeks, he never once
mentioned or breathed a word
on what he did for a living.
I assumed he was a student like
myself, drawn to the four walls
of chalk and crisp paperbacks.
His name appeared amongst the victims
whom had been identified in the debris.
I ignored what I read
more so than what I saw.
His reservation still held, I showed
up in his favorite dress,
I even bought myself a new perfume
for the occasion. The waitress
assured me his absence was
just cold feet, serving me
white wine from his favorite
blue bottle. I stared at my flute
long and hard.
His promising surprise, caught
at the bottom of the glass.
I left the restaurant that September
night in tears, grabbed a Starbucks
coffee, holding my broken
heels close to my heart.
YOU ARE READING
Awkward, Unrequited, Superficial, Toxic, Real Love.
PoetryLove is messy and beautiful. I have been writing poems since I was a teenager. It was my escape. It was and still is a refuge. My 20's are behind me. This book is a small collection of love-related poems that encompass pretty much most of my feeling...
