Post-it Note ExplanationI had a dreamPost-it Note Explanation
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Where the stage was star-lit
And the carpet was red.
The theater was almost empty,
There were only three of us.
You and I both sat in the middle section
Like we had been lovers for years.
It was by coincidence we were both there.
You had an artist sketchpad in your lap,
And a 4H pencil in your right hand.
You would glance at me occasionally,
Olivine-brown eyes hidden behind glasses,
And scribble something down on the paper.
You stopped only once to take a sip
From your brushed chrome travelers mug of
Expensive, big-shot coffee.
You were back from College.
I sat with one seat between us,
My hopes as frayed as the jeans I wore.
I kept notebook number five on my lap,
Casually scribbling down poetic lines
With a grungy black pen.
I pretended that it
Didn't matter I hadn't seen you in
Over a year.
Four notebooks and fourteen months later,
I had let the love for you become unimportant.
She told me one summer night,
Nearly a year ago,
As I begged and pleaded for advice:
Relative Kinetic MotionRelative Kinetic Motion
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I felt him coming before he threw the pebbles at my window.
There was some bizarre magnetic pull, some kinetic force between us. The sort of neo-physical gibberish we were supposed to learn back in High School Physics class. Instead we passed back and forth an old scrap of paper, laughing quietly and playing a word game, doodling on the corners of the paper in desperation.
The hair on my arms pricked slightly, the cool ocean breeze ruffling the curtains. I loved summer. Throwing the white sheets off the bed into a heap on the wooden floor, I got up, my legs shaky from a nights worth of effortless sleep. The dark mahogany grimaced at me with pock marks.
I didn't listen to it.
"Cali." Parr whispered in my direction. "Cali, I know you're awake. Come down here, I have something to show you."
Slowly treading across the floor on my tip-toes, I pulled at the dirty corner of my shirt and threw my hair up in a pony-tail. I was a complete disaster. Taking the patchy curtains in my hand, I drew t