The second time
a boy told me he loved me
I was 13.
“I love u,” my phone buzzed,
my head buzzed,
New feelings, no end.
“Love u 2,” I responded, deciding just then.
Said perhaps because a reject’s a punch
or that the words “Facebook official”
gave me someone at lunch
to sit near, knees touching,
electrically aware.
And there, we held hands sometimes, sorta,
more of a hover,
and though we did our best
to imagine a future,
of high school and high hopes,
there wasn’t much luck
at the school dance in June
he swore he forgot flowers in his father’s truck
and I feigned disinterest,
disappointment a sin
But once, I remember, I remember it well
he gave me a cheap ring
on this class trip from hell
the two of us separated
in two different groups
the ring shoved in my pocket
on a McDonald’s stoop,
some fake gold the nation’s capital sold,
heart-shaped of course
and though nearly now a whole decade old
I still wear it
because in this romance
we only kissed once
“Love” flared up and died out in only four months
and I think we’d agree
it was hard to be
someone to somebody else
for someones who barely knew
what it was to be themselves.
and this isn’t a sad story
because we were better friends
running laps on the track
like the world hadn’t ended
and later my sister
became friends with his brother
and I still say hello
at the salon to his mother
and later in college,
two separate states,
my sister would see him
before his big race
and they’d talk about me
and he’d call to say hi.
“Hello! How are you doing?
I hope all is fine.”
and I do love him still
because while I learned nothing
of romance
or whirlwinds
or high expectations
the second boy who loved me
taught the importance of friends.
Indigo Tuesday 