I made your coffee when I was a teenaged barrista, I waited on you in my twenties at the four-star café where I used to work. Ran into you at the market yesterday, finally learned your name.
Recently in 37x365 Category
Oh you and your completely cryptic handwriting. I practiced and practiced until I could write like that too, until I could read your notes. But I could still never figure out whether or not you liked me.
(back after a SHAMEFUL hiatus)
The one photo I have of you is from seventh grade. Standing by your locker. Smiling. Funny glasses. Years later I drove you to work early one
morning. I can still see that sunrise,
hear the radio.
