That first day,
when I stumbled in
(late no less)
you were laughing with your friends;
your smile blinding,
and positively crooked.

I decided right then and there
that I liked you
and that tiny,
crooked smile of yours too.

Years later,
you dropped a note on my desk
before hurrying away.

"Good morning."
It said.

I had said these same words
to you every day
for as long as I'd known you.

There was a little arrow,
crooked and imperfect,
pointing for me
to flip it over.

"Beat you to it."
You'd written
in your messy, scrawling,
and crooked handwriting.

I looked up at you,
catching your anxious gaze
from across the room
as you gave me
one of those crooked grins again.

And it was there
that I had decided that
I kind of adored those crooked smiles

And I kind of adored you too.

I liked your messy hair,
I liked your glasses,
and I liked yoru blue eyes
even better without them.

I liked your crooked sense of humor,
and the way you seemed
to be able to make anybody laugh.

Especially me.

I liked the way
you could make me blush,
and I liked how you had a way
with words.

I liked how you weren't afraid,
to obsess over video games.
I liked how you could explain
anything at all
and it would make sense.

But most of all,
I still loved
your crooked smile
the best.

Then I found the one
crooked something of yours
that I didn't love.

Your heart.

Did she twist it?
Let it crack,
And shatter?

The same way,
that you let mine?

I don't like
your way with words anymore.
Your "harmless" teasing
only creating an angry blush.

I don't like
your crooked sense of humor
anymore either.

You only use it,
to embarass me further.

I don't like your blue eyes,
as distant and cold
as the winter wind,
sweeping you away;
far, far, away from all the guilt
that you might have felt
because of me.

I don't believe
that you can explain anything
and that it makes sense,
not anymore.

Because you've never explained
why you lead me on.

But even now,
I love your crooked smile,
and a part of me aches,
whenever I see it,
because I know,
it's no longer meant for me.

Now I fear,
that it's meant for my best
and dearest friend.

For her sake,
I hope her poor heart
gets away unscathed.

You smile crookedly at her,
as she giggles coyly,
an oh-so-familiar blush
settling over her pale cheekbones.

I turn away.

When I look back,
you're staring at me,
your blue eyes
without even a trace of guilt.

I stare defiantly back at you,
and to my surprise,
you looked strangely ashamed.

Crooked, burning pleasure
rushes through me;
this twisted victory
filling the hole you left
in my warped heart
even if its just
for a little while.

So I hope
that you got what you wanted.
You've carried on
this sick, new tradition
of letting a heart go
far too soon
before it's ready to fly.

Because now my heart...

Is just as crooked as yours.

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