next junco
I wish I could ask you to notice me,
to see me past the flags I spin,
past the silks and sequins,
past the sophomore I am,
and maybe—just maybe—want me back.
I’m in love with you,
and it hurts in ways I can’t show.
You’re a senior with a sax in your hands,
effortless, unshakable,
already thinking about the future
where I don’t belong.
Out on the field, we move together yet apart
you in your line, me in mine—
and every time our eyes almost meet,
I dream about a world where I could tell you,
where you might say yes.
But I know you wouldn’t.
You’re years ahead, already untouchable,
your mind full of plans I can’t follow.
And still, my heart twists,
wanting something I can’t have,
wanting you to want me back
even though I already know the answer.
So I tuck the thought away
like a flag I can’t drop—
holding onto the impossible hope
that maybe, if the season stretches long enough,
you’ll see me as more than a silhouette
in your periphery.
I want to date you.
I want to laugh with you in the stands,
walk beside you off the field,
hear your breath against mine in quiet corners.
But I won’t.
Because some love is only allowed
in the spaces between measures,
in the silence after rehearsal,
in the longing that can never be returned.
And so I spin, and I ache,
and I stay in my place—
a sophomore in colorguard,
in love with a senior,
dreaming of a “what if”
I’ll never get to live.
next quarry