When I Loved You.

I was nineteen.
It was Summer.

We were playing at grown ups
Disassembling ourselves
Trying on clothes
Discarding skins.

Philosophy was a morning class.

Homework done
in bottles consumed
between midnight and
3am phone calls.

Your skin glowed in mauve greys
— 
laugh that reminded me of
black things that sparkle.

I left my windows open once,
in Vancouver winter

Cold air blowing in
fell asleep on top of the covers,
clad only in sleep shorts and
threadbare tank.

You snuck in,
held me close
buried me

under blankets and your heat.

I woke up to your heartbeat
smothering

drenched in sweat
a pair of arms that knew
how to hold me close.

I couldn’t let you go
when I was nineteen

A Love so absoluteit needed it’s own story.

a paragraph that now
consumes a portion
of memory

fueled by a dying world.

I found our letters recently.
The one-line poems
The innuendos and
manic text messages.

782 diary entries
for each day when
I loved you most.

One thousand, six hundred and sixty-two days.

2,393,280 minutes ago,
our fingers brushed
skin that lay resplendently naked.

I was 19 in a Vancouver summer.
You had bright eyes and warm hands,

all-stars-black-converse-grey-love-orange-favim-com-50002

then.


This piece first appeared on Medium published by Poets Unlimited. Follow me there for far more regular updates.

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