the oops girl/love letter

June 8, 2012

Here’s hoping you’ll never read this:

Sometimes I dream about us,
doing us things.
Like shoe-fiving.

Your hair looks nice.
Everyone agrees.
I could say something dopey,

like “YOU COMPLETE ME”

and wipe the cry-liner
out of the crease of my lids.

I search for that song
I can’t think of.

I wonder why
my bag is so heavy.

I wonder if
I’ll get to thumb through your life
and ear mark the good parts,
so when I day dream about us

doing us things,

I can correctly assume
that you’d reciprocate
more than my desire
to call them “us things.”

It is weird.
Having to quell the

ACTUALLY I DON’T HAVE A CRUSH ON YOU

energy.

ACTUALLY I DON’T HAVE A CRUSH ON YOU.
(Though sometimes I find that I do.)

ACTUALLY I DON’T THINK OF YOU NAKED.
(Not once.)

ACTUALLY I DON’T WISH WE WERE TOGETHER.
(Like that.)

CONSOLING EACH OTHER LIKE LOVERS DO.
(With hugs and tear wiping.)
(Then falling asleep during a movie
that neither of us were watching in the first place.)
(Calling you at three AM to say

HEY. I was thinking about you.)

but:

Sometimes I think about
the curves in your spine,
the absent wrinkles on your face,
and the words that drift out of your mouth.

I think about where you put your hands
how you choose what to wear in the morning,
what you do in your nothing moments,
and if you think of me sometimes.

I remember writing down
wishes
for us
when I was younger.

They sounded like crush wishes.
(They weren’t).

Here’s what:

I think I love you.
(David Cassidy)

I pretend we hang out all the time.
And you tell me secrets,
prefaced with
“DON’T TELL ANYONE THIS”
knowing I will anyway
and not caring besides.

I say things in a dull whisper
sometimes
but you listen
always.

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