QueenBee

A tacklehug

Running out to greet friends.

The feathery-light feeling

Of my friends' fingers at my waist, shoulders,

All grasping for some sort of an embrace.

A giant group hug

Bear hugs, too

I step off the sweaty bus

And onto hard pavement.

It's not raining hard

But it's not not raining hard, either.

My purple Converse

Step around puddles

On the sidewalk.

There has been something

Building in my throat

For the last few months.

Burning

Needing to say it,

I need to say it,

I can't go forever

Not saying it.

I don't know

What it is

Exactly.

All my friends are eighth graders,

Or on the other team.

Aside from two,

Who I hope never tire of me

But probably already have.

All my friends are eighth graders,

Which means all my friends are leaving.

I thought

This would be it.

Five and a half days would pass

Like lightning -

And you'd be gone,

And so would everyone else,

And we'd readjust,

Refocus again,

And I'd be back

To square one.

"I think I love you."

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