I began to write this poem

Telling myself it would be the last

The last one I wrote to you

The last one I wrote because of you

Your final one

But I lied

I realize now

It will take more than weeks

More than months

More than years to stop thinking about your laugh

Or the plans we made in the sand

To stop letting my pencil sketch your name in notebooks

Or avoiding your name in my poems

I am young, but I am not naïve

I am blooming, but this is not my first spring

I am no stranger to the storm clouds

The sting of raindrops on my eyes

But I thought you were my niche

The chaos to compliment my own

Or that you cared…

My final poem to you will be a smile before bed

The sparkle in my eyes when love holds me close

The last tear I shed for you on a Tuesday

Or the way I let the wind pass through me

I cannot yet say what my last words will be to you

The last words I will type or speak or scribble

But I imagine they might end with “you”