I’m sifting

through tests

and projects

and presentations,

and music

plays in the background.

A song

turns into a memory

and my mind


to you,

to your eyes,

to your words.

I know how

your mind thinks

with music,

with lyrics,

and I can’t stop

imagining if you

meant me

when you shared

this song with

the world,

when you shared

all of those other

aching melodies

with your friends,

with me.

My heart wishes

that you meant me,

that those lines

you can only say

through music,

might be your

thoughts of me.

And the pit in

my stomach

grows harder

and sicker

and stronger

at the same time.

I wish there

was some magical


or key

or spell

to disallow

my brain

its thoughts

of you.

To rid myself

of how your

fingers look

strumming your old

and tattered guitar,

how each word

you give to me

aches with longing

that thrums beneath

the lucid skin

you cloak them in.

I vibrate

with need,

with desire that

shakes loose the poetry

floating under my

own skin.

Give me all of you

because I cannot

live with the

pieces of conversation

I cling to.

Soothe my

raw longing

with a letter,

a word,

a smile

created because you

love me

as much as your music


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