She wasn’t a pearl,

Smooth, soft like satin.

She never tried to be anything but what

She was, and that was what made

Her just as alluring.

 

She wasn’t a liar.

She would always tell you

What she thought of something,

No matter how harsh.

That made her, perhaps,

More dangerous, in that a liar could

Never be so magnetic.

 

She wasn’t a thief.

If anything, she gave

More than she took,

Leaving her mark on me,

Invisible to all but me, yet somehow radiant.

 

She wasn’t funny.

At least, not to anyone

Who didn’t appreciate her brand

Of twisted, lighthearted, crazy humor.

I did. I miss it, because

It was hilarious.

 

She wasn’t trying.

No, I don’t think she knew,

Or not until she read it

Anyways, from my thoughts

To the page, an accident.

Oh no, she never TRIED to win me.

That might be why I fell so hard.

 

She wasn’t innocent.

Never fresh fallen snow,

Or a just bloomed flower.

She carried weight with her, a push,

A dark sort of gravity that

Would pull you in if you didn’t

Watch your step.

Beautiful.

 

She wasn’t a person who planned ahead.

She preferred for it to come as

It would, fast and hard.

I would come to jump with her—

Over the side of reason,

And into fun.

 

She wasn’t perfect.

Far from it. She was just

Her, and that was the best part

Of all of it.

I think if you tried to accuse her

Of it, she would flash one of

Her dimpled smiles and laugh at your joke.

 

She wasn’t always here.

She would get lost somewhere else,

In her head. What she was

Thinking, I can’t say, because

I never knew,

But she always knew where to go next.

That was the important thing.

 

She wasn’t always nice,

And she never apologized.

But she made it up,

Somehow, sometime,

In her own little ways,

And that meant more, or at least

To me it did.

 

She wasn’t straight.

She was bi, but was as close

To being a lesbian as you can

Get when you like guys too.

That amused us, for some reason,

Like our gaydars were in sync to

Have found each other.

I don’t know why, but it made her

Laugh, so I embraced it.

 

She wasn’t here for long.

But in a way she’ll never leave,

For as long as we keep her here, remembered.

The way she laughed, how she

Teased, her inability to pay attention,

Her games and jokes,

Have stained our skin like ink.

I carry her with me, close to my heart.

 

She’s gone now,

Moved away, far.

But she’s left behind some memories,

So I’ll replay them, her

Performance, because to forget

Would be unbearable,

And rude besides.

 

Her show ends, she bows.

We clap—a standing ovation,

Of course, nothing less for her—

She looks at me, winks.

I smile, giddy.

We laugh.

The curtain falls.