Pepsi in a can. 12 in a box. 3 years a tradition.
Cookies, baked, cooling.
Reruns, textbooks, ipads. Your chair now.
Meet me at the library
at work
at school
at practice
meet me in the real world.
I'm not blonde, but you wanted me once.
Do I now? Do you?
Classes pass, work and food and laughs shared.
I hate distance, but you give it more and more.
Birthdays. Christmas. Games. Concerts.
Invitations at the last minute, a fill in, will you please?
She's pretty. I'm not jealous. I'm not blonde.
Which one this week, next week, tomorrow? I'll get quieter. You'll get busier. Maybe its for the best, maybe a break.
I miss you.
Call me, text, emoji, email. Twitter, favorite, like, share. A picture here, there, tag, repost. She's pretty.
Someone asks a question, accidental. Doesn't realize. I just smile, shrug. I don't know anymore. I'm not jealous. I'm not blonde.
Your car, big, like you. Kinda broken, but not giving up. Your sweatshirt, my hair, smells like your house. The dog, the drive, the big tree out front that's the first sign of fall. Sunrises, photos, i'm just moral support, not the model. I don't mind. I'm not blonde.
It's a special recipe. Just for you. Wrote it in the sand after ice cream, wrapped it in sunlight while sipping an icee. To being perfect, together. Friends forever. I'm not blonde.