by Roselili Vargas
I never said, “I love you”
Only ever wrote it
Ink scribbled on paper
Fingers tracing letters on skin
Kisses planted atop nose-tips
How could you not know?
Your lips tasted of
Secret sporadic afternoon meetings
Seven years more of wisdom
And casualness disguised as freedom
While I was bright full moon midnights
Young, head over heels naïveté,
And sure as hell loyalty
Yet somehow still
Opposites dangerously attracted
Lighting fires between
Bodies and bed sheets
And breaking hearts
Placed inside careless hands
You know, you never said,
I guess I should have expected as much.
It’s just optimists never can see red flags
While wearing rose colored glasses.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Roselili Vargas lives in Henderson, Nevada, and likes to write in the "old-fashioned" way: scribbling words in ink on paper. When she is not recording her thoughts about love and life, you can find her teaching English and creative writing to high schoolers, snuggling with her cat, or trying out new recipes in the kitchen. Her personality type is INFP.
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