November First

I love you with such a real and present velocity

that it didn't seem right to talk to you again

unless I really did cross the ocean for you. 

I whispered into your sweater and pressed it 

up against my cheek as if you could hear me,

"I miss you. I miss you. 

I'm gonna come find you. I'm gonna come find you."

and little hopeful butterflies swarmed my head

and my heart and I swear I could hear you reply.

I hadn't talked to you in forever and it seemed 

like the only emblem I had of you channeled our 

spirits as they danced through five-year-old 

cotton and I knew it was real because I could 

barely hear the thunder outside my window now.

I was so terrified of ever getting married but I 

knew that you were worth everything I had and,

if I threw myself fully into that void I would mean 

every word I ever said and I'd take it to my grave

even if you hated me after I was old and ugly.

It's an awful and comforting feeling, knowing your

person is on the other side of the world. It's 

hopeless but your name ricochets in my head 

after I wake up every morning and when I'm

crying in some boy's bathroom and when I see 

the rain falling softly under the neon lights. 

I know you're there and I'm in a very peculiar and

undiscovered heaven when I think about you 

meeting me wherever I end up.

It puts a lump in my throat the size of your voice

and I choke on my words every time I'm

introduced to someone new.