poem: the winter girl and the sunset boy

the winter has me wishing
that you and i
were still something;
do you remember two years ago
(two centuries of yesterday)
i was desperate and drowning
in idealism, in pacified
anxiety, and
glowing new
intellectualism at midnight and dawn
and also
love poems, written for you
mainly on the coffee date
we almost had:
the old me, studying hard,
too-hot latte in hot hands
caffeine sparking slow insanity
and ‘i was wondering
what you think
about that?’ — i don’t think anymore,
much, about you (anymore)
and i know it is the same.
we are adults, now.