7 A.M.

Do you remember back then, in those strange summer hours, when i would pick you up during school breaks in my moms screwed up Corolla? When you couldn't kiss me until i drove around the corner, because that way, your mom wouldn't see the secrets kept between you and I. I never did like lying. But I would, just for you.

Maybe it was somewhere tucked deeper, a little earlier than 7:00 AM. It's all too little, I thought– but hey, fish cakes sound good on late nights, with you. 

It's 7:00 AM and it's only you. Oddly enough, it's all okay. Are you? Maybe – I mean, I hope you are. I sometimes think to myself about how I miss being good & how I miss being bad sometimes too, but so often I forget that you're not here, which makes me too bad, too often these days. I wish I hadn't been first in line and I wish we thought a little more. Or maybe, I just wish I could think a little less now.

It's strange – you feel like mornings and sunsets and sunrises and all the hours of the day. If i was being honest with myself i think I would have told you. I wish I could have won you over with a smile and wince and a glimmer of hope that maybe you'd think I was worth more than side glances over sushi. I miss spending time in and I miss spending time out. It doesn't really change much though, oddly enough.

I wonder if you ever felt disgusted by how I looked or didn't like me in the mornings at times. You were always beautiful, even in the mornings. You were groggy and froggy and smelled strange and looked messy and didn't say the right things– ever, but to me you smelled like flowers and early hours and despite however many feelings I had for you, they never changed in those mornings. You felt too much like mornings and sunsets and sunrises and all the hours of the day.

- 7:12 A.M. Saturday, September 24, 2016