Three Years

I thought of you again tonight
when I wrote another poem
(you made me write
more poems
than anyone else)
(you make me want to write
more poems
than anyone else)
I saw you with an apple
like that day at school
you were beautiful then
(you still are
but now you’re not my friend)
It’s been three years
three long years too many
and I’m still not over you
I have to wonder
if I was ever on you
to get over you
or if
you’ve become the personification
of my idealization
I don’t like that line break
two—now three—lines back
it takes a scenario
—an if—
and turns it into fact.

Excerpted from The Antithesis of Fear

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