patch of blue

this isn’t a poem about love.
this isn’t about how i am or was or could be in love with you.
it isn’t a childlike idealism of wanting to be with you forever
or a self-indulgent, whining elegy.
and it isn’t worthless sentimentalities like the day we met,
that time we kissed, or
reading neruda together.
this poem isn’t about that.
it’s about the morning when we climbed the hill
and you,
for a moment,
stood on the edge,
with the brightest sunlight i’d seen all week
shining down on you from a little patch of blue
while the rest of the world was grey.

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