who

The boy…
I feel as if I should give up thinking of him,
But the poet’s poem just makes me think more.
I wish the poet never went to see him,
I wish he never wrote about him.
My new goal in life to forget.
To forget about the boy,
About his cave and the girls,
About all of the time I spent there.
I’m going to stop going out to see the poet
And I’m going to restart my life.

The Poet's Poem

I wrote about the girl,
The girl in the kapok tree,
Her life,
And her darkness.
The boy from the cave saw it,
And a look of surprise came to his eyes,
His deep and dark eyes
That hid so much pain.
The eyes that she writes so much about.
His face was docile,
But I could see it.
The look was a sad one,
One of nostalgia,
One of longing.
He looked down,
And then to the sky,
To escape my gaze,
Looking for answers about the girl.
He said nothing,
I slowly walked away.

Another new moon,
Another night that the poet will come over to write.
He got me outside in the dark,
To sit at the base of my tree,
But now he wants me to go on walks with him.
I’m not sure about that.
As I sit at the base of my tree,
I look to the sky and immediately see Orion.
I remember pointing that out to the boy.
I ponder for a bit when I realize something;
The poet is late.

Last night,
I didn’t go to sleep at the regular time.
It was the night of a new moon,
And I thought that it would be nice to watch the stars.
She always talked about the stars with me.
She’d point out constellations,
And the first one would always be Orion.
I wonder if she is watching the stars tonight,
Or even if she’s thinking of me
Because I can’t stop thinking of her,

I haven’t always understood
what it takes
or whether feeling bare
minimum, sometimes above
the average toil
is understandable, relatable.

I’ve sometimes taken
life as a fancy,
which has temporarily
made me accepting, rarely
discovering that this slumber
has failed the Darwinian test.

Some days I’m taller than
the days I’m shorter, then
I’m the tallest and