written first, in the sand

One time, I found a notebook,
Full of letters
I wrote to the boy
who also had swine flu
In 9th grade.
We were quarantined together
At Health Services
At boarding school
In Vermont
And he held my hand watching
“La Casa De Mi Padre”
And I thought maybe this was fate
Getting swine flu.
But I never told him
I felt too weird.
And sick
And the hot and cold flashes
Might not have been love
And the nausea may not
Have been butterflies
So I wrote him letters.
Instead.
Never sent.

XX Monique

Edit: this poem is different than what was here yesterday because I typed the other up from my journal of poems written when I was still in love, and as you may see in the comment section, I had already posted it

Thanks @jeffjagoe for keeping my content fresh! I just don’t want all you steemians only reading poems about the excitement of single life.