Fool's Gold

I've got it figured out: Love.

Love is the train that’s traveling east when I’m headed west

and I can feel it roar in the steel railings like

I can feel my own heart beat when I press two little

fingers to my wrist.

Love is the fact that everything is black and white

when the lights have died.

Love is when you read a book at sunset

and you look up a page later

and suddenly you're sitting in darkness.

Love is allowing my father to touch my hair

without pulling away.

Love is stopping to pet the neighborhood street cat.

It's crying over fireflies stuck in a cramped, sticky jar.

Love is understanding that some things

are meant to be free.

Love is the way he kisses me:

all sweet and soft and warm and unhurried.

Love is the way I'd swim oceans and cross galaxies

and wait lifetimes for him.

Love is how he says my name when I’m not paying attention,

and love is the haze that fills my mind

with thoughts and feelings for a boy who hasn't decided what he wants,

and love is the thing that keeps telling me that I have.