graphic by ella sylvie
There is an attic room in some student house off campus
And I think after the years finally drag by,
In the same way, I like to enjoy a cigarette after the last song at a concert,
And when our degrees lay forgotten somewhere in our respective apartments,
I will still remember its address, I will think about it when I drive on nearby streets.
In this attic room in some student house off-campus
There was but of course, a first kiss, because isn’t there always one? (but never before like this)
Both of us a little shy, perhaps a little hesitant.
There was loud music below, a quiet room, and quick darting glances.
I remember it with an awkward sweetness,
There is an attic room in some student house off campus
And on its floors, there are empty bottles of sweet wine and gay snoopy cups.
Posters line its walls and its slanted ceilings,
And somewhere on its walls is a picture of us, one of our very first outings
And I remember smiling to myself the first time I noticed
how it lay among your wall of memories and moments.
In this attic room in some student house off-campus
There are hot chocolate talks and movie marathons as the sun’s light begins to fade.
There is a dried orange ornament on a tiny plastic Christmas tree
There are (probably, most definitely) my lost earrings in between couch cushions
And somewhere in this room is a clay blueberry tray painted and
dated, if I remember correctly, February 14th
In this attic room in some student house off-campus
There is usually loud laughter, I worry often about waking your roommates,
And there is sitting and talking, limbs tangled on the couch
Or sprawled on the floor, leaning back on our palms, sharing gazes.
There are discussions about what we want and what we have,
We are careful with our words and each other.
and in this ambiguity of titles, there is the most clear of expectations,
there is a gentle ease, soft and comforting like our whispered goodbyes,
in knowing exactly who we are, between just us two
I will remember this openness, the way this attic room tended us
This attic room in some student house off-campus exists for as long as we’d like it to.
There is a quiet understanding, that we are here because we keep asking one another to.
And this is okay, time had no name here and perhaps neither do we.
This, us, was a first, and this attic room had the pleasure of watching it unfold.
I will remember this when my fingers run over the bracelets we gave each other,
I will remember it with, I hope, the same sort of tenderness I carry with me now.