You always smelled
like Doublemint gum
and stale cigarettes.
You said you wore all black
because it made you feel powerful,
and you never combed your hair
because you didn’t have the time,
for there were memories to be made.
You always spoke too fast
and hugged me too tight,
but I didn’t mind.
When we met you told me
that you collected stars
and I thought it was so silly,
so ridiculous to believe
that you could own something
that belonged to the gods,
to the universe,
to the world.

But now that I think about it,
I did consider you
to be mine.

about the author
Jaylin Paschal is a junior at Northmont High School where she works on the newspaper and literary and arts magazine. When she’s not writing, she’s reading.