On Why I No Longer Like Untitled Poems and Why My Love Deserves to be called Unwritten

his name was surprise. as in surprise i could find it

within me to love someone so much that their smile was

engraved into my mind at 3:02 pm when i was mindlessly

staring at a window that reflected a world i did not

find any beauty in. the overwhelming desire i had to not

only love but to be loved was so staggering that it shocked

me; i know because i can still hear my mother's yell as i

dropped a glass plate on the floor when i realized that

i had allowed myself yet again to fall into another person.

my mother said i was lucky that i didn't cut myself with the

glass but all i was thinking of was the contagious laugh i

knew you would utter when i told you this story.

[you did laugh by the way, your chest rumbled and your cheeks

were so red they reminded me of wine on a white dress;

you put your hand over your mouth to cover the slightest gap

you had between your two front teeth and the happiness

on your face set my veins on fire]

i say that i fell into you and not that i fell in love because i

do not believe it is possible to fall into something so

deep and electrifying and morose and survive. i do not believe

it is possible to fall into love as if it were an ocean and it

wouldn't swallow you whole; as if love was some kind creature

that let you swim in the whirlpool it inevitably created. as if

someone could possibly fall into love and not drown as it

mercilessly threw you screaming, begging to be saved. i do not

believe in falling in love because i do not think i could ever be

one of those lucky people who are washed up survivors of

hurricanes so frightening and beautiful you chase it without

knowing why. i am disastrous enough to drop glass plates on

floors to see you smile but not cataclysmic enough to stay while you

try and do the same for me. so when i told you months later that

i was irrevocably captivated by the dimples of your smile and

you furrowed your eyebrows curiously, trying to figure out how to

let me down gently, i already knew the words you were going

to say. we joke about it now, it seems to be an unwritten rule that

you will ignore the wince on my face when you talk about your

new girl and that i will ignore the fact that your favorite of my poems

are the untitled ones written about you. i say that i do not miss your

arms around my waist anymore and it's true, your hugs have become

quick and reluctant so that you do not give me any false hope. but

there isn't any hope left that hasn't been dried by bitter insecutity

and a stubborn need of mine to move on. i don't miss the way

your endless mood swings affected my day and

i don't miss the way you used to call out my name, joyfully and

excitedly i have simply forgotten about old conversations

and unfulfilled promises and i have a feeling you have as well.

[forgive me though, your name still slips from the ink of my

pen onto this secondhand journal from time to time. simply for

the sake of writing.]

(h.l.)