Lesson Learned
written by: Christina Strigas
@christinastriga
You once told me
‘you’re my lesson learned’
or some other nonsense
that upon hindsight
deciphers how your soul
is as blind as mine.
I rarely keep my eyes closed
watched a movie
in a catatonic state
only to wake up to analyze
the ending in a forty-five minute
discussion about Mexican cartel.
I taught high school,
adults, children
all those degrees on the wall
are some type of lessons
I carry with me to the cafes
we used to visit
across the university campus
where a Philosophy major met
an English major
and we never stopped talking
you could never kiss me
you loved me too much.
You tried that one time
to invite me to a party
but I said no.
I was lying on my bed
with the telephone wire
wrapped around my finger
Depeche Mode was playing on my turntable
and you said
‘c’mon, bring your friends.’
My friends had no place with yours.
We were a semester of illusion
discussions
as you played me the guitar
I sat on your bed
and you talked about Descartes
and when I ran into you at Loyola Campus
you came running down the stairs
to stop me
‘come see what I’ve written now,’
you said,
come sit with me a while.
‘I have class,’
I said.
But we both knew,
our time passed
and you had me on your bed
your roommate gone
and believe me I waited.
- Alone - March 9, 2020
- See You Anon - July 21, 2017
- Spotlight On Writers – Christina Strigas - July 8, 2017