Gone Is Drew


Popularity.
The unattainable high school dream.
Four years go by with replies at zero.
And in the end we’re left with nothing.

Memories flash like a movie reel after tassels sway left
And one scene stands alone for it makes my heart pause
The frozen scene is my memory of you, Drew.

Caramel-colored swirls of curls coated the top of your head
Your swatch of brown eyes were twins to the curls’ beauty
You weren’t SNL status, but you could make me laugh
Drowning in the C’s of Geometry gave me you, Drew.

I like the sound of being with you
And our laughter exchange by phone
Or maybe I like the sound of not being so alone.

Progress.
The evolution from hopeless crush to crushed fan
When you retired your jersey and crosse, your number was still written on me.
Then on my hands, but now, on my mind.

My diary was at its last page, stained with tears and ink hearts galore
A semester long secret now tired of being trapped
While inhaling the deepest of breaths, I decided to set her free
I confessed my attraction to you, Drew.

You stayed silent for a second too long
And teenage me cried for a response
Salty tears were soon replaced by a sweet kiss
A caramel-tasting confession of a mutual love for the young.

I love the thought of being with you
And the developing base of your tone
Or maybe I love the thought of not being so alone.

Promises.
I’ve been with those who’ve broken theirs.
Time and time again, I never learn from the ones left shattered.
Never did I see my first crush handing me the first shard.

The likes of him and I were exchanged in secret
I didn’t question because his affection was mine
And I knew girls like me were lucky to be in arms like his
The downfall of our love falls on you, Drew.

Following in Geometry’s footsteps was prom
Waiting for a promposal was chivalry's juvenile curse
Trivial me stood in line for the balloons and hashtags
Yet there was I, broken inside, when he told me about his “somebody else”

Now I hate the thought of being with you
I hate the lies you told
And now I dwell in the wretched thoughts of being so alone.

Purple.
The color of my future tied with gold.
College was a next chapter and Drew was now the back page.
What left is still unwritten and not marred in sin.

With a sister who now lives in the age of my senior lust
I know now that Mr. Popularity was not an error, but a lesson in time.
Like the wind, gone is Drew.

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