When I say “I like you,” it really means I can’t live
without you, and I hope I never have to
I wish you wouldn’t cry so much because I can hear it
in the shower; that’s why I always kiss you
when the water’s running, so you don’t know
that I know
that those are tears and not just hot water.
When I thought of boyfriends, I wasn’t really planning
for someone like you, with all your blue moods
that hover somewhere between cerulean and indigo
and never really decide on a permanent home,
but I’d take all your colors any day
if it meant spending more time with you.
I remember holding your hand in the ambulance
on the ride to the hospital, so tight it cut off
your circulation, and how I tried to open your heart
like a text message in all the weeks afterward,
but you’d buried your secrets so deep inside
that I couldn’t find the password.
When I think of you, I think of your sweet sixteen party
where we both got drunk and had sex
in your father’s basement, but we couldn’t finish strong
because you were so busy crying
so I held you and we drank cherry schnapps instead.
Sometimes I wonder what it would be like
to have a boyfriend who’s happy all the time
and always laughs at my jokes or at least pretends
to think they’re funny,
but then I realize that you and your sadness
are different people,
and I don’t have to love your sadness;
I just have to love you.