He is slipping out from my fingers,
Falling through the gaps
And I am reaching for all of the things that
I cannot grasp
I see the quivering green of spring,
But I think too much of me got tangled in the gray of winter
Because I am caught somewhere
between the first snowfall and the soft crash of melting icicles
Unaware of where I stand
The halls are tilting and he is sliding
away from me,
Out of my reach
And I am pulling myself back
I watch as he disappears into a sea of backpacks
Soon I won’t know his face from the next
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