There are so many beautifully telling things I’m sure you never noticed,
And probably more still unnoticed by me about us.
For instance, you used to tell me bluebells were your favorite flower
And that you wanted a tattoo with one on your ribs
You were much like that flower
Wild and free
With the kind of eyes that begged to be kissed in the rain
I just remember they were so blue.
Do you remember after I planned that picnic?
Some sort of last ditch romantic gesture to make you smile
The kind of gesture I’ve grown unaccustomed to
I left a note by your door and I’m sure you found it cute,
Still a few weeks later we were over, but you asked to come over
I was beyond stoned and tried to seem disinterested
I was still so sore; still too bruised.
I never found out why you were there, but you did look at my closet
You loved all of my winter clothes and seemed surprised
Even when I told you I’m at my best in winter.
I have to admit I felt like Gatsby
Except less hopeful and slightly angry
I should have known.
You used to tell me to masturbate
Because you were too tired to attend to me
But made me so horny, and
I had a chance to fuck you once
But since I had recently lost my virginity
Somewhat unbeknownst to me
I knew I should ask you again.
When you said no I realized,
I’d done the right thing;
But you were never mine.
At that picnic you gave me a book for my birthday
Because I’d gotten you a gift for your birthday before we were over
Which if I recall correctly was October 15
(Don’t get too excited it’s the month of my dad’s and day of my brother’s.)
It was a book called Mind Games
An apt title for a book from you
You said it looked like the kind of book I would like
Full of interesting facts about psychology
I saw the same book at Barnes and Nobles the next day
On the bargain table 40% off
And figured that was where you got it.
Or the time when you put on “Dramamine” at that party
I hadn’t said a word to you and stayed outside
I may have read into it, but I felt like
You played that song in some hope that I’d come.
I almost did,
But I couldn’t leave my fragile doll.
And what about the poem I wrote you
About how I missed your body,
Porcelain skin next to mine,
It was cheesy and I thought you hated it,
But after a year you said your dad found it,
And I just said
“Ha you kept that faggy poem.”
When I really meant
“It means a lot that you kept my shitty poem.”
I felt so bad that I texted you one day saying I was sorry.
You never replied; I still feel bad.
Every time I hear “Kids”
I think about the first time when we were alone
And you played it on your wooden flute
While we smoked your dad’s weed.
Did you know there’s only one photo of us?
It’s from the night I came back from the beach
And I went to the party with you and Heather
It’s blurry and you untagged yourself or you never were
It’s saved to my computer.
(Don’t get too flattered though, all of my Facebook pictures are.)
It’s funny you can still see us
Focused on each other if only for an instant.
I’d love to tell you about this poem right now
But you’d likely find it creepy
Even though you’d probably like the structure
And hopefully the memories.
Still it embarrasses me that I write about you at all
But you were always good material.
You know this was supposed to be a haiku.
I think I felt closest to you
When you were telling me about that one prick
Who showed you bluebells online
Outside in the Horseshoe
While we smoked a cigarette
But I tried to tell you of the others before you
And you couldn't relate.
You asked me to make you a CD when we met
And I put “Your Ex-Lover Is Dead”
I used to think it was foreshadowing
But obviously I have something to say
However, I’m still not sorry.
You asked me to make you another after
I remember I tried my best to make sure the songs flowed into each other seamlessly
It must have taken hours
There were a few songs that reminded me of you
And if you checked the notes you’d see a secret track list
For a mini-mix “Nobody’s looking for a puppeteer”
A quote from “Being John Malevich”
A movie we watched after you played that flute
The first time we kissed.
I kept trying to give it to you
But you never seemed to really want it
I kept it in my book bag for almost 2 years
Until I gave it to some random kid in a computer class.
You know when I gave you your present.
I knew that those seeds would go unplanted.
You loved the flower.
But I know you.
And I couldn't be the one to give you bluebells.