Retrograde

This is for the first time we met:

how I didn't know that I would love you yet.

It simply felt like I had known you

my whole life.

Eight months later,

I'm sitting in a parked car with you,

and I'm choking down my feelings.

But you reach over and touch me

and I feel my heart taking root—

like I've discovered something radically new

I can't quite explain yet.

When I am with you,

I feel so wildly me,

almost like you give me permission

to be the force of nature that I am.

This is for us:

all the memories picked apart,

strewn like our regret across the floor.

I was wrong for you,

but you took everything from me.

You will forget me before the winter is over,

but I will agonize over every moment

we spent together.

You only text me back when you're high

and you're always leaving the party with another girl.

All my friends hate you

and sometimes I wonder if I do too.

This is for the last time we were together:

all chaotic and messy and beautiful.

We were always so back-and-forth.

Part of me wants to be done with you forever,

and part of me wants there to be one more time.

Maybe I'm writing this because I need to say goodbye.

Maybe I'm writing this to heal the ache.

Or maybe I'm writing this as an ode

to youth and invincibility, to us, to mistakes,

to the troubles and wonder of love.

An ode to the messiness of life.