"Finding out your poet crush is an asshole"
I met him towards the end of a long winter. It wasn't snowing and it wasn't that chilly either. He caught my attention from across the room and his soft stare burned fires in my hair. I gently ran my fingers through the tangles and walked in his direction. His team mate stopped me and we chatted, but I was awkward and he was awkward, but he was brave and it was cute. Awkwardly, we looked in other directions. Well, we looked in other directions to find a different direction to look at. I locked eyes with the one and only, my very first poet crush. We spoke and I wanted to hold all his words in my mouth and I wanted him to hold all of me in the delicate callous of his hands. Maybe I said I love you with my eyes, I don't think I did, but I probably did and he probably realized.
I Facebook stalked him for about three months.
I met him again towards the end of a long spring. I was so sprung and ready to fall into his arms. We spoke. I wanted to set him on fire. He's such an asshole, man.
We added each other on Facebook. I Facebook stalked his girlfriend for about a week. I'm over it now.
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