She was alone, and I thought she could use some company. Just a laugh or two, anything to make that forlorn aura dissipate.

Talks turned to walks, and walks into dates. I wore myself on my sleeves, and rolled them up while I pried into her most hated forms. She wasn’t so bad, not to me.

Time flew as I poured myself into her, our eyes locked, souls bared wide.

Or so I thought.

No, for she looked beyond, to a place where I no longer existed. A place where strife was an old friend, and lonliness preferable company.

Perhaps she wasn’t ready yet, or maybe she was - just not for me.

His name was Timothy Owen. We were both in Mrs. Walshan's kindergarden class. He was quiet with blond hair. I never noticed him until one day he came to me at recess and gave me a ring. It was silver colored, they kind you squeeze to make fit,

and had a bright blue dot with the lines of a woman on the front.

I didn't put it on just clutched is in my palm and took it home and showed my mother.

"It's a Catholic ring! Don't you know that! It's the Virgin Mary. Give it back to him. Catholics are not Christians."

My mother always held strong if not rationally based views on religion.

So the next day I went to school with the intention of giving back the ring, but first thing that morning, Mrs. Walshan stood in front of our class grimly serious. "A ring missing. Virginia remembers last having it at morning recess yesterday. It was her special Virgin Mary ring. It means a great deal to her. Has anyone seen it?" Mrs. Walsham stands hands on hips, "Okay, instead of recess today, we will spend our time looking for it."

I looked over at Timothy. He looked down. The ring was in my pocket, but we both got in on the search of the playground, floor where we took naps, the coat room, boxes of wooden blocks, stacks of board games and even our respective restrooms. I kept the ring in my pocket.

The next day, Timothy came up to me at recess and asked me if I had the ring he gave me. I told him yes but shouldn't we give it back to Virginia. He looked up. His eyes were blue. He looked like he could cry. He told me she didn't need the ring and that he loved me and gave it to me to protect me always.

The next semester he moved away. I have the ring in my jewelry box yet.

i meant to give you the world

i didn't mean to make it hurt

i meant to give you the stars

i never meant to harm me with scars

i meant, i meant something else

entirely

when i said i could't settle i

didn't mean to pass you by

like a satelite.

i meant to have something in common

i didn't mean to only share

the way we repressed our feelings

i meant to communicate and care

you see

i meant, i meant something else

entirely

when i said you were no help

i meant to ask you to try caring as well.

i meant to make up my mind

i didn't mean to always have you decide

i meant to keep you as friend

and then as something undefined

i meant, i meant something else

entirely

when i said goodbye

i never meant forever

i meant to be back in a while

not to unwelcome myself

from your place

and to pathetically weep

after your face

i meant, i meant something else

entirely -

guess this is why we failed.

Lost in the wild as a foolish youngling, she watches the sun go down. No light, no phone, no fire. Moon but a sliver. She shivers. Sweat beads down her face from the hot and anxious day. A night-beckoned breeze tustles her hair. She begins to tremble at the thought of his goofy grin, at how she would feel safe and scared at once if he were next to her. She’s shaking some primal instinct loose as the colour drains from the sky. The pinks and yellows meld seamlessly into the greys and darks, so slowly she can't pinpoint when it happens, but at last she knows that the sun has set.

She lays back on the crinkle-crunchy leaves. All she can see are shadows of branches up against the blue-black sky. Heart beats slow to a whisper as adranaline relinquishes control. Bugs crawl on her but she’s calm now and most of them don’t bite. She stares at the stars - so beautiful. The most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

Ever had nature pull you to someone like a magnet? Nature really wanted me to be with her, the brown haired dancer who lived down the road. Her sweet heart-shaped face had a beautiful smile, and soft pink dusted cheeks. With her natural facial features came her daring eyes, which tended to speak louder than anyone in the room with just one crude look.

Before I even imagined having a crush on her, she was my best friend. We went from sewing clothes for our stuffed animals together to partying with just the two of us. Time flew by, and soon, her smile made me melt into a mushy fourth of July popsicle. Anything she said sounded like a harp in heaven, even if it was cruel. I was simply head over heels for her and the stories her eyes would tell just by expression.

I'll never forget the first time I kissed her, right after pinning her down on a trampoline. Her expression was as excited as mine once she felt my hands reach out to hold hers, reality quickly tried to snap us both back into place after a few seconds of paradise, but failed. The cuddles we shared alongside secret whispers of lust behind any boyfriends back seemed to slowly build after that, and over time, we became closer than I ever expected, though we never became girlfriends. 'Sneaky-best-friend-lovers' is probably the best word out there to explain.

she looks like a lit match,

all orange-haired and red-faced

and white-hot in your hands

but every moment lost to contemplation

is another centimeter closer to getting burned

she almost fools you into forever,

her warmth persuading promises from your lips

before your consciousness can catch up

and by the time it does, all that remains is

scarred flesh and a curl of black smoke

and ashes like an apology for the love that could’ve been

if she had not been born a flame,

a fleeting thing

Funny... check

Handsome... check

Street smart,

Book smart,

Capable,

Athletic,

Nice,

Musically inclined...

all of the above...check

im not sure if you see the pros and cons of this guy...

bc all all I see are pros *blink*

oh wait

^depression...check

But he was mine.

Or at least he was in my head.

A pretty picture,

a doll, makeup on.

I’d liked actors and musicians,

several deceased individuals,

maybe a couple professional athletes,

and, as any of us may understand, more than a countable number of book characters

...but he was real.

And that was why he was different.

A real-life, in-person, physical-copy.

7th period

last row

desk in the corner

Never talked in person

...can’t get myself to spend any courage

never invest any courage

can’t grow my supply

won’t talk to him

just watch

distance

all I’ll ever do

gave an apple pie to another guy

only the year before

spent all my courage then

wasnt a crush

hate the guy now

for misusing my courage

only watch...

all I’ll ever do

he's so pretty that’s all I need to do

I’d embarrass myself otherwise

Complimented me on a google meet

Told me he liked my pfp

said Merlin’s a top notch show

I didn’t see til he’d left

only watch...

all I’ll ever do

but I’m cool with that

And he’s almost too cold to touch, I’d leave him alone if I didn’t love him so much, in ways of the heart, our physicality, and such, he hit me in the core, a gut-wrenching punch

He came not to hold, but destroy my mechanical heart like a child’s brittle toy, he was clever, he was hidden, and he was coy, my rusted, unkempt, discontent, broken boy

And I don’t mean to be a bleeding cloud, I’ll admit how I feel, but I won’t do it aloud, he knows my resistance, he colors me proud, to him, I am just a face in a swirling crowd

But how can I be just the same, just another woman by the name of Plain Jane, he feels nothing as raw love drives me insane, my efforts to move him are pointless, inane

I wish I could transport him in a mirroring way, like the manner in which he got me to stay, make it so his heart would never stray, but there’s too much fright for me to convey-

I walk with him across thin, splintering ice, to fall under love’s spell, there is often a price, it is rarely pretty, it is not always nice, and my emotional faculties are starting to splice

-Together, but I don’t feel ready, try as I might, I can’t keep my breath steady, his scent alone is intoxicating, it’s heady, it cuts through my defences like a razor sharp machete

… From my eyes falls saline confetti…

Inside my brain, it is getting darker, graffiti my thoughts with an onyx Magic Marker, logic and reality are becoming starker and I’m running out of time 

What happened to when he was mine…?

In my bed, I still see his outline, my skin is VIBRATING, I am losing my MIND, and, of my Love Heart, there are simply pieces to find and in my memories, only slices of the always-weeping kind

He wore me like jewelry, something to wrap around him for others to envy, like a ring of  fleshy, elastic quality, but that should have stayed between the sheets, him, and me

Love, again, has become the Red Ghost, a parasitic longing looking for its next host, it left our story when we needed it the most, one more drink of champagne, one last sappy toast

But I’d sooner strangle than let it go, suffocate this fixation with a Christmas bow, cover it with a pillow, bury it in snow, find any way to grab it and never let it go

This isn’t healthy, I know, but I already told you that insanity is in tow, I’d do anything to cushion this blow if only my head would just tell me, “No.”

But, inside, I feel a faint growl, my mental predators are on the prowl, my heartstrings are cut, I let loose a howl and I fall away

Insomnia has me caught in its web, I’m anxiously waiting for this torment to ebb, lightly I call to him, quietly I almost beg, but it’s too late

I am alone in a sinking boat, an ocean of emotion tearing against my throat, capsizing quickly, I can’t stay afloat, beneath me are verbal bodies fat and white with bloat

Burning with desire, I realize now how I was playing with fire, it’s not safe to romantically admire when he was never real

After all, he had no heart to steal

I was 5

He was 6

In kindergarten

At my old school

We always chased kids at recess

Around the jungle gym

Past the swings

Our feet hurting from the sharp mulch

I always chased him

His blond hair would get sweaty

His brown eyes would be so happy

Every girl liked him

He was the popular kid

The hipster of us all

I liked him

Well

As much as a 5 year old can

He moved away

I dont even remember his name

I will preface this poem to say that my first real, serious crush was completely unrequited and not very realistic as I think back on it. He was my best friend's older brother, and a

dashing marine. All the descriptors for a cheesy hallmark movie haha. I remember after I met him for the first time, I couldn't eat for a week. I cannot explain that feeling to this day, however I was a young college girl who put her first "love" on such a pedastal there was not room for 2. So when I think of this time in my life, I think of how I just ached. I ached for him, and did not even know him. Not really. Sounds silly to me now, but to the young girl that I was, it was everything and it was real.

Here is what I wrote back then some 8 years or so now.

When

I find myself

writing of you

I lose myself completely.

I ache for want of you and

search for you in a sea of faces.

I cry tears that wash away doubts,

wipe the slate clean and my wanting goes on,

as if it were a myth passed down by word of mouth

as if it were a song that begged to be sung for the world.

Don't you see? Wanting you does not make me whole or happy.

Needing you does not complete the faint heartbeat of life.

Consoling myself to be resigned to waiting is akin

to waiting for rain in a decade long drought,

chafing from the ends of my hands to

the tips of my toes you encompass

every part of my aching body.

And I, well I, wait for want

of you and only you

like seas when

they recede

into quiet

sleep.