Summer starts to end,
and I look towards a strange autumn.

Weather changes,
emotions roll,
and still poems do not come.

Friends are married,
and I could celebrate with them,
I could gift them a poem,
one for them and them alone.

He wrote me a poem,
and my heart is singing.
I'm a little light headed
and giddy
because he wrote me a love poem.
It's the first I've received and it's brilliant
I love it,
and I just had to share my joy with you,
otherwise I'd burst

He dances like I think a cartoon cat would,
shoulders bouncing
while he slinks back and forth
through the east coast basic,
a pleasant and slightly smug smile
creeping across his face.

I'm tired,
but that's nothing new.
I was an adult yesterday,
setting myself up
for international travel,
international work.

It's exciting,
even if I sometimes feel
a torrent of emotions
rising up
threatening to pull my stomach with it

It's apparently
"National Girlfriend Day"
and I'm spending it at work,
not in the arms of my boyfriend,
so I'm a little grumpy,
but I'll deal.
There's still the beauty of phones
and communication,
which I am ever grateful for.

Tomorrow is a new month,
a day closer to a point
when I can look and say,
"hey, it's a new me!"
(because these changes are gradual)

In celebration,
I woke up a little early
so I could box up some things
for my coming move
and then threw some things away.

I threw out a box of paper flowers,
still in the box
in which they arrived at my first dorm room,
as I'm cleaning my room,
and I'm also dusting
the corners of my heart.