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No. It's not about you.


by Jamie Sughroue Brown


i fluctuate 

between heady anticipation 

and nausea. 

it's been years (and I mean that literally) 

since I've experienced these feelings, 

and the accompanying awkward, hormonal, 

teenage sensation 

of a crush. 


shouldn't such a young word be rendered obsolete 

past the years of puberty? 

ahhh . . . but the semantic nature 

of the word 

seems so apt.


and - when I'm falling 

asleep, I can hear the echo

of his laughter, like the echo 

of rushing waves 

through a conch shell, pressed 

up to my ear. 


expectation and hope 

are the most painful elements 

of being

an aging crush-er. 

the realization 

that there are a finite number of people

in this world. 


pairing up

with every beat 

of my lonely heart. 


time is ticking away, 

as the old adage threatens

and I have so little to spare. 

i don't want to rush 

anything; but I wish 

the seconds of each minute 

i spend with you 

could lengthen, 

double. 


but 

still I question:

do I just want to be 

with someone, 

or do I want 

to be with you? 

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