Still Breathing

You, who could discuss Poe, physics, and phrenology, Who got ahead of the class in calculus as an antidote to boredom, And who didn't, in exasperation, refer to me as an ungainly and mobile thesaurus, but Left it at “Good Memory” and an invitation to play Ultimate Frisbee. I met your eyes across the classroom, and knew That I was already lost, but you Could lose me again. We laughed, we talked, we exchanged insults; Times I just wanted you to stop smirking. But even you couldn't keep up with me in every discussion. Just most of them. Many more you won hands down, but-- Funny, that you never did ask about the purple flowers. Assumed you knew the meaning, shrugged, and moved on. I almost wanted you to ask, but you didn't, and it's undone. We still meet, times, in the hall, but my chance Wasn't existent a year ago either. I don't see you. When I do, I am tired, and you've never even heard of John Donne. Don't care for the Civil War, or tap dancing, or much beyond a blond in a mini skirt with a less obnoxious laugh. Honestly, I expected less. And we're both still breathing.