Pass This On To
I woke up to dewdrops on my window,
Glittering in a quintessential mimicry of the fading stars all studded in the expansive vault of the creamy sky.
Carefully leaving behind a trail of snail's slime, one rolled off the glass pane and into my mug of tea
Which I drank and pretended it was coffee.
I swam to school today.
I don't know if it was because of the jittery effects of my pseudo coffee, or because the air was so hard to walk though, thick with morning fog as it was.
But, as I stroked my arms through the condensation and finally reached the finish line,
Because, well, because, I saw you waiting there
For me, or for someone else.
My hands were turning numb and the fog was crawling into my nose, strangling the air out of my body,
But even as I was choking for air, I smiled at you with my irises.
You turned before you could see me.
Now I'll never know if you would have smiled back.
When you left, oxygen returned.
I could breathe again.
During English class, the fog outside dissipated.
The sunlight filtered through the window and danced on your freckles—
You know, the ones on your neck
I was playing connect the dots with them as I sat behind you.
Our teacher was singing about Shakespeare and you turned.
I liked the movie on Saturday, you told me.
I liked the movie.
I did, too, but I couldn't tell you.
At lunch, you sat across from me
And I from you.
We looked in on each other through glass.
As we sat on the bench,
While time was already passing on the highway, beckoning us with tailwind.
We were anchored, though
And the sheet of glass.
I want to sway to the music of your lips,
And if I could never breathe again while I'm around you,
I would willingly die of suffocation.
I love you, did you know that?
Words are all I have,
But I can't put them into syllables to communicate them to you.
I love you.
So I write you this note
And I when I give it you
I hope you'll read it.