I am who you think I am.

MEGHAN CROSBY

long live our youth & love

Before you, the thesaurus was my best friend.

You eyes are a sort of mirror, you reflect the good in others with everything you do.

How can I move on if my heart is still with all of you?

I remember

I remember my sister whispering lies to me on Sunday nights, about how my brother was adopted and then she would cuss just to make me cry.

I remember the sunburns I would get in the part of my hair from playing outside too long. My feet always looked the same ways after hours of no shoes and grass and bike rides -- dirty and independent. 

I remember the first time I had allergies, my eyes were swollen and for the first time I hated the earth. Too much Benadryl.

I remember my dusty yellow room window seat and how that was the only place I could sleep on Saturdays when I supposed to be cleaning.

I remember the first time I started to care. My cursive wasn't pretty, I started to speak less, and people started to mention my smarts more than I wanted. I was the fastest girl in the class until one monday when I was slow and awkward and I didn't play soccer at recess anymore. I sat on the swings with the other girls and threw wood chips at the cute boys. And then I stopped singing out loud-- even in front of myself. I started taking naps and I started writing love notes because he started it. I remember the day I prank called him and then he cried when I told him I didn't like him anymore. His mom didn't like me after that.

I remember when she stopped calling me best friend.

I remember when he told me that I could choose to be happy then he taught me how to do the things that I loved more. He gave me books and cards and pep talks. I remember when we learned how to make pottery and then painted together all day long.

I remember laughing so hard we thought the raspberry and cookies-n-cream jelly beans would come out our nose. I remember the night we threw paper airplanes on your roof in the rain. I remember when we had an advice-column and your dog avoided me. We signed our names under the shelf in your closet before you moved. I remember our pill-bug races. We used to dance in your mom's bathroom and yell at your neighbors from her window. I remember the time we promised to still be friends when we are 80.

coming

origami hearts and lanterns before the sun sleeps.
hold my hand before I miss you too much.
let's ignore our conscious and just pretend we don't know anything--all over again.
something about you is like a sunset-- because you're beautiful but, you just happened a little too late.
I don't know if you have enough teen-age fun, but that's kind of cute,
and you're really sincere when you're stressed.
I didn't see you coming and I didn't even see you when you were standing and staring and laughing and looking into my eyes telling me really nice things.

so when I take a step back I try to evaluate if I am feeling or thinking right now.
neither.

I haven't done my laundry in a while.
mainly because the things I forget about disappear.

I hope that happens with you.

because, when you leave, I might wish we had more time together, and that might hurt.

too many things hurt too bad right now.

how to not

1.  never learn how to blow bubbles with your gum--no one cares anyways.
2.  yodel every other Monday
3.  drink water upside when you have hiccups, maybe ask your dad to demonstrate
4.  pretend to whistle when everyone's favorite song has that one whistling chorus comes on
5.  if you really want to not, call yourself a leprechaun and eat some freaking cabbage

you're welcome