I wonder if he knows I'm thinking about him.
Do his ears rings?
Does he suddenly pause what he's doing,
Overcome by strange feelings of goosebumps and questions.
I think of him often.
Not in the same love sick way I did 13 years ago,
At 16, when all that mattered was
Whether or not I presented myself as pretty.
But now at almost 30, I think to myself
"I wonder what he's doing these days."
Because in days and years past
I have always known where to find you.
Where to go if I wanted to catch a small glimpse
Of your existence
Still walking on this planet.
I don't know where you are now.
Because though I find you
In little things
Ocean breezes, my Sunday coffee, and swing sets
I do not know where you exist on this Earth now.
And then there are times I think I see you
In a stranger's long hair or slightly crooked nose
I see you in my coworker's old high school photos
Convinced, you are him, he is you
The resemblance is uncanny.
I see you in the description of green eyes in every book I read.
Every character I craft, has eyes of emerald.
I wonder if he knows that I talk about him each school year.
I teach Romeo and Juliet to the tune of our past relationship
"He was too old for Juliet" I tell them, "it never would have worked"
I knew, from experience.
My 9th graders stare at me
As if they are longing for a fairytale,
Never sure if they are rooting for the characters
Or my past self.
"It doesn't have a happy ending," I tell them.
I wonder if he knows that I associate him
With the strangest of things
Mostly humid air and misty rain by the sea.
Sometimes, I swear, I smell him.
And I spin around
Hoping for the familiar poke at my hip
I remember from 2008
2nd lunch
Trumbull High.
There are so many questions
Lingering unanswered in my mind
Did you find that dream girl who wasn't me?
Did you get your driver's license?
Would you get married?
Do you still want kids?
Did you ever pitch that movie idea?
Has life been more kind to you?
There is an exam's worth
of open ended questions I would ask
If I could only find you
Out there in this world.
I would tell you the novel I've written
Of my life:
No, I don't live there anymore.
Yes, I did become a teacher.
No, I don't still have your sweatshirt.
Yes, I'm better from the cancer now.
No, I haven't spoken to your sister in years.
Yes, I have missed your hugs.
I wonder if he knows
I think about him often.
And if one day he makes his way here
And reads this.
Know,
"I write about you."