No, this is not about love, because I am not in love.

I met you at the bus station when we were both late for something. You were the tie dye in my shirt, or the black out I had yesterday at 11:43 a.m.
You were, essentially, the best cup of coffee I ever had.

I try to capture you and put your face in my dreams, but often I wake with very little success. Mostly you have forgotten all the poems I memorized for you. My handwriting that you never saw. The letters you didn't get because you were out of town, or out of the country. You were in the air and I tried not to love you like I tried not to breathe.

No, this is not about love, because I am not in love.
Of course there is guesswork that I've given up on, because I've gotten too old and stopped wearing my glasses.