This is One of Those Posts Where I Write a Random Poem About My Day

I can't stop thinking of you,

and my stomach,

which hungers for love more than my heart,

which seems full,

already,

full of bits of stuff and bits of fluff,

little pieces of misplaced

I-don't-know-whats.

++

I love you more than birds, which are free
and love is free and boundary-less.
I like you more than that.
Birds are tangible,
three-dimensional,
edible.
Love is quick to catch fire,
sparks,
embers burn long into the night.
I love you longer than night,
longer than the spread of eagle's wings,
the length of light from the sun on water.
Love is not so measurable as the sky,
which has limits,
but not the mind, which is so easily interrupted
but steady in its perseverance.

++

"I'm over him," she said,

but something about her tone

and the way she flipped her hair

made me think,

No you're not.

It occurred to me,

hours later,

that I couldn't remember her name.

Then,

more hours later,

I wondered if I ever

knew it in the first place.

"This is where I used to live," she said,

"and this is the high school I went to."

I said something,

but she didn't hear.

She was lost in a memory,

and I wondered

if she was even talking to me.

Later,

I laughed about it

but it wasn't funny.

The realness,

the closeness,

the tangibility of it all.

It confirmed my suspicion

that nothing,

if anything,

lasts.

It was three-dimensional

and edible,

so they ate it,

and it was gone.