By Valerie Goldstein
I wonder if you ever think of me,
Because I never go a week without
Thinking of the feel of your body,
Or the soft pink corners of your mouth.
Do you remember how you said my name?
It’s never left another’s lips like that.
Do you still have my gifts from your birthday?
I hope you didn’t throw them out that fast.
When I reached out to see if you recalled
That time we fled from rain under the bridge,
Laughing, we scratched our names on that stone wall—
It took four months for you to say you did.
Did you mean more to me than I did to you?
I think that question plagues me ’cause it’s true.
Valerie Goldstein is a sophomore policy studies major and applied data analytics minor from Newton, Massachusetts who wants to be Leslie Knope when she grows up. She enjoys writing poetry, songs, and sketch comedy in addition to acting and singing.
