16 years old.
Blue eyes, black hair.
There was something alluring
in the way we wasted the night.
Nostalgia bound me, something magical in the ferris wheel.
He folded himself around me
as if to say “mine.”
His fingers interlocked with mine,
thumb stroking mine like the hands of time.
His need for speed terrified me.
I believed that I cared
and pretended the break-up hurt.
18 years old.
I haven’t seen them before.
They’re alone in a crowded room,
and I’m curious.
19 years old.
Hello. We should get to know each other.
I said little, she said too much.
We laughed later, but it felt like a perfect fit.
20 years old.
I leave her house, confused.
The five text messages I send are expected,
and welcome. With patience, she leads me.
And then she asks me, and I say yes.
I believe in love, in not giving up.
She draws her heart on my hand.
This is today and tomorrow,
and I am happy.
Love is fluid and
unrelenting. Don’t apologize
One day, love will be equal.
Today, love is