For Portland.

There is something about
his too-loud laugh
that makes mine echo;
the way it fills the space
that was hopeful
and not awkward,
silent but not empty.

His toothy smile
is too big for his face,
but I can feel my own
making my cheeks hurt
and I wonder
if this is just how happiness is,
taking up as much room
as someone else can give
- as much as it can -
for whatever moment
it finds itself in.

His hazel eyes
aren’t much to speak of
until they’re staring into mine:
blues that are so used to
questions
comparisons
and intense stares
that become
fleeting glances.

It was the ease found
in sitting too close,
in laughing too loud,
in whispering each comment
like they were
our only secrets;
like everything was only ours
but we weren’t hiding
- they simply didn’t care to notice
(nor did we care for them to).