To My Lover at Fourteen

Disclaimer: Just because this has line breaks doesn't mean it's a poem. It just felt more natural to write it like this. This is nothing.

you may or may not have been
my first love:
until now, i still have no clear understanding
of when and how like evolves into
love. but I was very fond of you,
that I must admit.

whoever finds true love at fourteen is
lucky, i guess,
and whoever doesn't isn't necessarily
the opposite--only ordinary, maybe.

we found love untrue at fourteen, in between the lines
of notepaper, in the negative spaces of pictures
we drew, in the split second breaths
we took between our words
and syllables.

you were so tall, you were
maybe close to six feet when I first
kissed you
when i held your hand, your palms
sweaty and your heart racing like it
was your first time, wait

it was your first time.
and mine too.

i remember the details: the color of dusk
the smell of crude oil on the wooden floor
sickening and, yes, crude
like you and i were

we were not prepared for love. we were young
not exactly wild, but we were free, at least
and we loved like loving was all
we were in school for
and we exchanged words
promised we would be together
for a long time, but
we left those promises hanging in the air
left them irretrievable

and that is why the love we had
at fourteen was no more
at fifteen. a love like that does not last
i realized. so we let go
and we never kissed again
the harmless kiss of that
afternoon.