we pointed at mature images and words in textbooks
people rolled their eyes to our faces
and smiled at us behind our backs
they took second glances and asked why
but i never did.
i stopped raising my hand
and the teachers stopped calling on me.
they were told not to let us stand together in line
not to let us sit near each other
be of eye contact
talk.
asked if we're dating
asked if i liked him
asked if he liked me
wait, no they didn't
they never did.
we interrupted class to show each other our socks
and didn't notice a glare until five minutes after
i stared at you
all of math
i looked in the mirror and saw your blue eyes
not mine
i saw your freckles
not mine
we were broken puzzle pieces
ends chipped off and cut,
paper folding unto itself,
imagery upon our bodies fading.
we worked on projects together
you looked at me like an adult would a child.
the storm was brewing in
i saw it in your eyes.
i saw the waves crashing upon the shore,
i saw the land it eroded away.
i saw the things the current carried with it—
green bottles and plastic rings,
fish skeletons and fins.
and maybe the smiles weren't warm
but instead subtle warnings.
the kind that were only shown
when you hug someone and your chin
is laying on their collarbone and his face
is the other direction and only you can see
what their mouthing to you.
purposefully.
memories become glorified and turned into poetry
and we both remember things better than they were.
it's 2018 and you've been kicked out of two schools already
one for sending inappropriate voicemails to a girl
one for sexualizing a teacher.
they're sending you to a school by the name of bellevue:
the no-other-option school.
the you've-ended-up-here school.
the this-was-inevitable school.
i saw it in you
seven years later.
i thought i was the bad influence
but it was you.
i don't believe our paths will ever cross again
i don't know what the last thing i said to you was
and i feel as though i need to have last words
as though i need to have something
that makes a brand upon your heart like it did mine.
but we see each other every once in awhile
we see how much each other has grown
and we speak,
we are not the kids we once were.
we both silently understand that
the universe has given us the favor
of finally forking our paths,
after so long of intersecting and intertwining and running over
and as the school year ends
we release the breath we have been holding
for thirteen long years
and quietly say our goodbyes.
gg.
