Apologies for my doubts. I was never meant to be trusted.
Believe me, you looked a lot like a boomerang,
But there’s nothing worse than sitting alone on the seesaw all year.
Knowing and loving a perfect stranger was number 37 on my bucket list,
And now I’m on to number 40.
August gave me nightmares when it was meant to be my sanity.
Meant to be a crutch?
Meant to be cruel?
Meant to berate, belittle, bemuse?
In retrospect I do suspect that we were meant to tip our hats goodbye.
I was meant for blizzards the Weather Channel couldn’t predict,
You were meant for constant candlesticks, all with cookie-cutter beige wicks.
The stapler wasn’t broken after all; the stack was just mismatched and way too tall.
But thank you for the stark contrast class, the semester was never meant to last.
Purely calligraphic. Your memory’s still fantastic.