Who Is He? |A Poem

pexels-photo-316877

I got the news today,
They said I’d be getting a new roommate.
They said he’d be here in an hour.
I wonder who it is?
I wonder why they chose me?

There is a soft knock on my door,
Is it him?
He walks in and my breath hitches.
It’s him, the boy with poetry in his eyes.

I want to ask him,
Do you write?
Are you like me?
But I just stare at him.

His skin looks so soft,
His hair, brown matching his eyes.
I wonder what it would be like,
Running my hands through it.
My fingers getting cought in his curls.

Him, this boy,
He is the feeling I get when I walk into a used bookstore.
Everything is old, yet it’s still new to me. Enchanting.
In his presence I forget how to write.
My little red notebook, a blank page taunts me,
as it sits in my lap, not a single word,
not even a drop of ink escapes from the tip of my pen.

He reminds me of pretty pink roses,
Perfume and ice cream on a sunny day.
Erasing my memories of funerals,
Death and decay.

He is a coffee stain on the surface of my brain.
He is a color I cannot explain.
He is complicated in every way,
Yet everything about him is so simple, plain.
He is driving me insane,

He is also keeping me in my right mind.
Who is he?
And what does he hide?-H

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