Coffee breath,
(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
(away).
