summer with you
will be
forbidden meetings
and “tell me about your day.”
laughing in whispers,
loving in glances,
missing each other
endlessly and unforgivingly.

it will be
the ache of wanting more
and the sweetness of having enough.
murmurs of nothing across screens,
and talking in code,
listening to songs that only we understand.

it will be
the quiet promise
that we’ll stick together
in every way we know how.
new, different,
a little secret,
but still,
undeniably us.

forbidden doesn’t mean unloved.
it just means we had to get clever,
had to learn the quiet art
of slipping past the noise,
finding each other
in the cracks between rules.

we speak in hush tones
through fake personas,
a call tucked
into the folds of night,
your laugh breaking softly
against my ear like tide.

they told us “no,”
so we invented yes
in the language only we know.
stolen minutes,
a heartbeat shared
over a signal no one can trace.

the world doesn’t see
what it means when you say my name
like it’s a promise.
but i do.

and maybe we’re breaking the rules,
but we are not breaking each other.
we are not wrong.
we are not alone.
forbidden doesn’t mean unloved,
it just means
we love anyway.

in december,
i swore i wouldn’t write
another poem for sean.
said it with a sigh,
maybe even meant it.
i thought,
never again.

but then came january,
quiet and cold,
and somehow he was still
in the smoke of my breath.
a year since we began,
when i fell in love.

february found me
stitching metaphors together
like valentines
i never sent.
february saw the worst of it.

march marched in
with memories and melodies
i played our songs
and called it practice,
but it was always more.

by april,
i was blooming poems
like daffodils,
soft, persistent, yellow with hope.
a year since we ended,
but we grew again during that month.

in may,
every line was him
in some shadowed corner
of what i didn’t know how to say.
we were broken,
but stitched together once more.

and now it’s june.
i’m still writing.
still choosing him
in verse
because i don’t know
how not to.
so much for never again.

woke up wrapped
in the warmth of being loved
by him, by the quiet.
the world felt gentle today.
no red lights
on the way to work.
no rush.
just open roads and soft skies,
like the universe decided
i deserved a breath of ease.
maybe,
just maybe,
today is kind.

you shine in a way
that makes me forget
how scared i am
of things that don’t last.

your laugh is gold.
bright, rare,
the kind of sound
that makes the whole room softer.

your eyes carry the light
of every sunset i’ve ever missed,
and still, they find me
even in the dark.

your love feels like a sunrise
i get to keep waking up to.
gentle.
glowing.
mine.

and i know what they say:
“nothing gold can stay”
but you’re the exception
i want to believe in.
you’re the one i’d hold on to,
even as the world lets go.

maybe,
if i hold you close enough,
if i tell you this often enough,
you’ll stay.
you’ll stay.