The boy who played the Dad to my Mom in preschool.
The one who looks like a Who from Horton Hears a Who, and shifts his eyes when we walk past each other on the Coca-Cola stained floor of our church.
The guy who stole my heart, and kept it for six years, with the floppy, pop-star-esque hair that lured me into captivity.
The boy I asked to a dance and proceeded to walk away from (because of the thief), with eyes like the frigid taste of mint gum.
The one who talks with the side of his mouth, and built like a steamroller ready to destroy everything in its path, leaving no hearts spared in the wreckage.
The guy who is fantastic at charming people with slippery talk, and even better at letting them go.
The boy who is extremely smart in an unassuming way,
the one who I can’t have, but is just out of reach,
the box of cereal at back of the top shelf at the grocery store,
taunting me with captivating words
and a hand to hold as I slowly let myself