the calendar kids

February we met. it was so loud but you were so calm. you just patted your heart to the music, like he told me you would. i looked at you and you looked at the ground. i'd never seen someone so graceful but so bold. you told me i had pretty eyes and i forgot how to use my hands.

March we kissed. we kissed on couches we kissed in trees we kissed in cars and in forests and at the top of mountains. your hands were so soft -- i learned that in february -- but in march i learned that your heart was too.

April we fell. we fell and we fell hard. i fell for your lyrics and your patience. you told me that if you never saw me again, you'd spend the rest of your life searching for someone who could make you feel the way i do. we soared so high, knowing how far we'd fall. then we soared higher and fell further.

May we learned. i learned about the scars on your wrists and the girl that made them worse and what happened with your mom; you learned how to open up.

June we learned how to be apart. it was only a couple weeks at a time. you'd always whisper "we'll be just fine" over the phone and i believed it. i sure as hell believed it because your smile put stars in the sky and your voice put the moon to sleep.

July we explored. we climbed mountains and we swam in water that gave us goosebumps. we drove hours and stayed up till 3 am practicing what we learned in march. we missed trains and didn't care because that meant an excuse to sit and talk for hours longer than our curfews allowed. we'd fallen so far that i wasn't sure if we'd ever hit the ground. i thought maybe we wouldn't. i prayed that we wouldn't.

August you left. you left and 1,000 junes could never have prepared me for it.



now it's February all over again and i always pat my heart to the music -- but when i turn to look at you -- you're never there to look at the ground. oh, how i'd kill just to watch you look at the ground.