Rain pours from the sky,

droplets cascading down

the windows that surround us.

Classmates overpower my thoughts with

their chatter and laughter, only growing louder

as we arrive closer to our destination.

You're sitting in front of me,

making small talk with your friends,

taking photographs, and exchanging jokes from class.

You take frequent breaks

from your conversations, escaping

the increased volume of the bus.

I can make out the top of your head,

pressed against the window, headphones

plugged in your ears. I'm doing the same.

"Going To California", the song which

brings you to mind, plays softly through my phone,

as I observe you gazing out the window.

I wonder if we happen to be listening to the same song.

I'll never know.

Moments like this

only enforce my

continuous certainty

that we are a match,

one meeting a few years

too soon,

causing me to fall more in love

with you, longing for

your head to be

pressed against my shoulder

instead of that filthy old window.

One year later...

Too many faces remind me of you.

I'm trying to fall out of love,

but a part of you stands

in every corner of every room,

walking past me on the sidewalk,

blended in with the bicyclists and

skateboarders crunching over

the newly fallen leaves.

You'd love it here.

I walk past a pond each morning,

where fish swim, flowers bloom,

and students come to sit and ponder

whatever thought is sticking in their minds.

You’d like this pond; maybe

you’d try fishing if it allowed you the time.

Come back to me; let me show you

this new life I’ve come to discover.

And let me hear about yours, too.