The sight of your face no longer makes me flinch
In the ways that it used to.
I don’t find inspiration in the pens I used to twirl
Thinking wistfully about you.
But one thing brings the rush back to my cheeks-
Listening to the songs that we once shared
As jokes half-serious.
But even those songs have lost their luster
And I lack desire to listen to them any longer.
But I still find myself going back to the playlist I made from you,
One second off from exactly an hour.
And I listen to those fifteen songs on repeat.
But soon I will no longer be fifteen
But another year older.
Am I growing out of prose and poetry
As I grow older and
fall out of love with you?