imprevisible

—On Love, Marina Tsvetaeva

“I still have the receipt from the film we watched on

our first date” I say “I bought four red sweaters after

you told me it was your favorite color” I say “it’s been

exactly two hundred and twelve days since our last kiss”

I say “last week, in a hotel room, the complementary

pantene shampoo was the type that you use” I say “I walked

around smelling like you and nobody else cried over it”

I say “yes, I’m still crying over it” I say “the other day

somebody’s ringtone went off in class and it was the same

noise you set for your alarm and it took me a minute

to figure out where I knew it from” I say “I’m terrified

of someday not knowing where I knew it from” I say

“every poem I write nowadays is about the same thing”

I say “I’d almost give up writing altogether if it meant

we could try again” I say “please” I say “please” I say

“please.”

François Coppée

 translation: “I will be the poet, and you will be the poetry.”

Do you mind my interruptions? Do you wish I would listen more? Would you care if I kissed you instead of letting you finish? I almost did the other day but the static in my stomach told me not to. What would have happened if I hadn’t listened? My heart is always so much more reckless than my head. Does that make sense? Am I rambling again?

I want to know what your favorite color is, and where you go when you want to be alone. Have you ever broken a bone? How many hearts have you shattered? How many times has yours been bruised? I want to learn your secrets, all the soft places, and I want to hold them like I want to hold you. I want to hold you.

I’m falling too hard and I know it’ll end with my blood on the street. Do you feel the same? What would you do if you could stay? I know you’re leaving soon and I am too but if you could change that, would you? I’ve just been thinking about the first time around, how you would’ve loved me had I not been too late. How you could love me now if you wanted to, but do you want to?