When it Got Warm

I.

We used to sit on the roof outside my window when it was warm and write stories.
You always told me that you wanted me to be some kind of fairy,
because my eyes sparkled in the light and I could fit in your arms.

You used to say that we should live in one of the short books you had written.
The one that had talking objects, tragedy, and mismatched romance-
There was a prince, who closely resembled you, and for some reason, there wasn't anyone like me.

'Where do I fit in?' I whisper.

You never answered back.

II.

When it got colder we sat on your bedroom floor and wrote poems about each other.
Yours were mostly written about our first summer and my eyes.
Half of mine were comparisons of you or things to you, because you used to tell me you liked personification.

We listened to music while we scribbled down our feelings,
and when you offered me your newest poem, I realized they reminded me of my favorite songs.
I told you I loved it and kissed you on the cheek.

'This wasn't written about you,' you murmured.

And I sat there, looking at his handwriting.

'Maybe...I read it wrong.'

III.

When spring rolled around we found our way to the park and hummed tunes that we composed in the coldest part of winter as we napped on your bed.

We sat in the grass and you picked me a flower-
It was a common clover flower, white and purple with a skinny green stem.
You put it in my hair, leaned into my neck, and sighed, 'You remind me of flowers...'

My eyes rested passed your shoulders and looked at the clouds that rolled by.
'What do I remind you of?' you ask.
'You remind me of the sky,' you give me a puzzled look. 'You're the most beautiful thing I could lay my eyes on when the sun sets.'

I didn't want to mention that I was afraid of heights and flying scared me.


IV.

When it was getting warm again we were on my bed, you laying next to me.
We never wore much even though my room was air-conditioned.
There were other things that made us feel too warm for clothes and we both like how our skin felt when it touched.

One night, you sneaked in through my window. I wasn't sure why, but you didn't seem...yourself.