𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧

he worked at an ice shop
when we were seventeen.
I never payed him a visit,
and I regret that.
he liked poetry
and playing the piano.
he also liked to see me smile
because of his comments.
he used to play guitar in his
bedroom to the beat of the rain
on his roof.
he used to ride a skateboard
past the grocery store
where I would pick up spices
for unmade dinners.
he used to stare at me in the middle
of hallways like no one stood
there except for us.
he could be found warming his
hands in his tan colored car just before
the first bell rang in
the winter months.
he wore this silver ring on
his right index finger.
that hand was the same that he
used to push his golden hair out of his
charming face.
he had no idea what he wanted
or what he had planned for his future.
and somehow I wished
I could be that unbothered
about the future.
he had these thick framed glasses
that his ocean eyes hid behind.
he would take them off every now and
then.
he ran away from counselors and
never spoke a word in english classes.
but he was an open book
during his lunch periods.
yet I couldn't figure him out.
I couldn't even weave an imaginary
take about him.
at one point I thought he was a vampire,
like something straight out of twilight.
I even imagined him as the ring leader of
a secret drug business.
but none of it fit his character and
who he was.
all I've seen of him since
the day I left the place I knew best
are photographs taken by people I've never
even met.
I want to see him again.
I want to tell him that I have loved him
since the day he walked
into that blank canvas of a classroom
and grabbed the most random object that
he could possibly think of.
I don't know what he wrote about that
day, but somehow
I find myself hoping that it might have been
the flowers that were growing in the
plastic kpop cup I'd picked up off that table.
I hope that you looked at me and
wrote your natural disaster story about the
girl with the straight brown hair
and the blue eyes who sat opposite the
classroom from you.
because I wrote it about you.
the flame was you because I felt the
spark when you entered that room.
when I turned seventeen, I withdrew my
feelings because I was afraid of
the them.
now that I'm almost eighteen,
I realize that I was wrong.
and I don't want to remember you as
the boy who used to work at an
ice cream shop when we were seventeen.
I want more than that.

written on: july 30th, 2020