Do I know we're not right?

I have four years worth of debt to prove my commitment to my craft and my commitment to the arts. I didn't just want words to be a hobby, but wanted it to consume me, take over my whole life, make my body ache with language.

I had a teacher who announced it'd be ideal to fall in love or to break up with someone before writing poetry. She stood in front of the class and everyone laughed, but I wrote it down like I would get graded on it. I made it my mission to come with a HD in love and pain.

The time I spend alone–when I don't have a significant other or a lover–allows me to grieve for love lost. But most weren't even 'lust', let alone love. I was reaching for inspiration. Sitting in cafes and talking and I would be staring, wondering how I could explain their freckles or their eyes and whether I could talk them into falling in love with me. Wondering if I could write my best poem yet. I stare at people and think about words.

Even though I told you last night I'm in love with you, I'm not sure I even believe myself. I mean, I do love you, but in the same way I love my best friend. Aka: please don't kiss me.

Don't flatter yourself with how I've confessed my feelings to you, like, six times now in the three years we've known each other. It's probably boredom. I'm pretty sure I'm just trying to make my teacher happy and following instructions–even though I got a HD in poetry–and I'm making sure the thousands of dollars I'll be paying off for the rest of my life pays off.

This is the worst poem I've ever written and if you're the inspiration for it, that speaks volumes of my HD-worthy feelings and love. Aka: I know we're not right.

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