I wonder if you saw those two girls, both younger than you. Giggling, debating whether one should follow their instincts and speak to you. I was one of those girls. I had the blonde hair and blue eyes next to the one with brown hair and freckles.
Something about you told me you had a story to tell. I don’t know whether it was your slouched posture or the headphones dangling down your chest. It might’ve been the cigarette packet, foreign to the area because it didn’t have the gruesome images of gangrene or rotten teeth. You were poetic. In my mind at least. You carried yourself as if you were made of words, lyrics even. You formed a song I was dying to hear. I sat on that train and the hours that followed making up stories of who you were, why you were on that train, why you were in this city. Why you looked lonely.
You opened your cigarette packet and placed one in your mouth. You stay like that for one stop ignoring the “no smoking” signs around the train. Standing up, pulling out a lighter and walking to the doors. The train slows and you move from the train, cigarette still hanging from your mouth.
I wanted to ask if you were okay. Because for a minute, I think I loved you.
the way your eyes glitter with a carnival of colors
the way you tap your feet to the beat of any song that comes on the radio
the way you brush your hair behind your ears with your fingertips
they way you clench your hands together when you’re nervous
everything. everything you do.
it makes me fall in love with you over and over again. everything about you. every day over and over again. that’s what makes me love you like I do.
your glittery lashes remind me of the sky lit up with stars on a summery night
I love the your Beatles shirt and fur coat, and especially the tiny daisies tucked loosely in your belt
The absence of love
slips through the cracks
as I see the afternoon light
hit his eyes, runs to his dimples
and I have never seen him looking
so beautiful while he was doing
nothing but half closing his eyes
because of the sun
I don’t know his name really
but he looks like he could
make me laugh
and cracking someone’s code
nothing can compare
to knowing someone fully
nothing was more beautiful
that the sun hitting his face
Royal Street, New Orleans, Louisiana
an uncertain bug-eyed figure stepped my way, mouth gaped open,
“do you reckon Frenchman street is this way?” he must have
known i was a local street rat. i knew he wasn’t from the way
his tongue formed diction. one hand clenched his dusty blue-blonde hair,
the other cupped the remnants of a cigarette packet.
i did reckon the direction he was headed. he uttered,
“i’m sorry to bother you.”
i ensured it was no bother as i kept on my way,
sending the bug-eyed figure his way. must be quite a nice thing,
to be foreign in a place
a clumsy blue boy
alone in the perfect place
French Quarter daydream
There’s something magical about knowing this will be the first and most likely the last time seeing you. You looked nice today. The blue sweater complimented the green in your eyes. Your hair was in a messy bun and from the way you were walking you were late. But what were you late to? Perhaps i’ll never know. But what was running through your head when you passed me on the street? Are you in love? Are you healthy? Perhaps i’ll never know. You were carrying a tan coach handbag and a fat wallet. What do you keep in your bag? What can you not live without? Perhaps i’ll never know. But sometimes you don’t have to know, and there is beauty within that.
I really miss everything about you. Your eyes and little hairs above your lips and your voice. I really miss your voice. So so so much. I want nothing more than to hear it. I wish you left me a voicemail once so I could just listen to it. I remember your voice but it’s slightly fading and I really want to hear it again.
You were always so self-conscious about your nose. You thought it was stupid and too big for your face. I loved it. I used to stare at it and just think how different it made you. I loved it so much. I loved always talking to you and the fact you were always there without fail.
I miss you hand squeezing mine whenever we went walking. I miss your arm around my waist when guiding me somewhere. I miss your chin on top of my head and falling asleep on your chest. I miss you kissing my forehead and feeling your breath in my hair. I miss your room and your blue walls and race car bed spread and books above your head and your little crafts and the picture of the chair you drew but the legs weren’t draw logically so they make no sense. I miss listening to music with you and laughing at my mistakes and your laugh. I miss your laugh a lot. I miss your voice so much. I miss you so much. I really miss you.
I’m walking home slowly and imagining you here beside me. You’re scratching your arm and walking slower than myself. I turn to look back at you and there you are, smiling at me. I turn back to the footpath and start running away from you laughing. I hear you run after me and within a few steps feel your arms circle my waist and lift me up kissing my neck as you do so. You fling me over your shoulder and start running again, holding onto my legs. I’m squealing and laughing and begging you to put me down. You eventually do and lie me down on the ground, lying down as well with you head on my ribs. You grabs my hand and entangle your own in it, fitting your fingers perfectly in the ridges between your own. You look up towards the sky, your head rising and falling with my breath. You looks up towards me to see my eyes staring up at the dusty blue sky. You turn back to watch the clouds before turning over your body to kiss my lower stomach. It is soft and slow and you move up my abdomen following your hand which glides over my chest towards my mouth. You grasp my jaw and pulls it towards yourself, pulling me up onto elbows then down on top of you. I can’t help but smile in between kissing but I do and you stop to look me in the eyes and smile. You strain your neck to reach my forehead and pecks it before wrapping your arms tightly around my neck and pulling me down onto the grass next to you. My arms encircle your stomach and my head rests on your chest, now rising and falling with your breath. I close my eyes and begin to fade away.
Your smile feels like something I’ve seen before, in the warmth and laziness of midsummer days, in the soft ebb and flow of the sea. Somehow I’m stuck between wanting to know you and letting you be, the mystery of who you really are unfold in my head. I know you’re more than a pretty face. I’ve seen glimpses of that beautiful mind. I’m hanging onto each word I catch falling out of your mouth as you walk by, oblivious to my presence, engaged in a lively conversation, a little banter with your friends. I know them more than I know you and every once in a while, your name crosses their lips and I almost ask them who you are but I hide my smile and feel my heart sink. I dedicate this song to you. I’ll play it on my guitar in the hallway that you always walk through to go to class. Maybe you’ll notice me someday.
something ethereal; something both radiant yet soft, fierce yet gentle. Your smile embraces the
souls of each person fortunate enough to witness it with tender arms, and it ignites a fire within
their bones so overpowering glancing away would be impossible—even if that meant being
charred to ash. Your smile is worth more than all the stars in the sky. Don’t forget to use it.