Crooked

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,
Crumble,
Break,
Burn,
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.

Reviews are loved, the people who write them even more so.

SNO.