(ripped) notebook paper, 

the smell of Sharpie,

cold mornings and the afternoon

California sun (not quite enough)

to warm the side of my face

turned away from you. 

This is (not) a schoolgirl romance,

this. Is the story of how the sum

of the parts don't ever seem 

quite enough

to equal the whole. 

When it comes to us, 

I like (how) you-

use the words we made up even

when I'm not around,

(But) it doesn't quite work,

and you always seem to forget that.

That it's not really (me) talking. 

Did I ever tell you how, even now,

I'm (still) scared 

of watching helium balloons 

floating away, disappearing,

watching, (I follow) the dot in the sky 

growing smaller, smaller, smaller. 

I feel like falling. When all I really want is

to float, But. I'm scared of drifting