i want to memorize you

he came in everyday at 10 am with cold coffee in his hand and dark circles under his eyes

he always sat at the table in the far right, cornered between health and natural science.

he always sat in the same spot (far chair on the right side if you faced it from natural science), plugged his laptop charger in the same outlet (the one behind the small coffee table; bottom because the top was too wobbly), and opened the same window (a blank word document.)

at 2pm he would get up and walk to the desk and ask for the bathroom key. i knew this because i always was there to hand it to him. he would give it back right after, thank me, and walk to the music theory shelves.

he never picked up a book though.

then he’d sit back down.

he’d leave at 7pm he would unplug his charger and stuff his laptop under his arms.

everyday he would leave numbers written on the table in a sharpie i didn’t even know he brought.

(he didn’t. it was mine.)

i want to close my eyes and learn the contours of your face with only my fingertips

jackson.

jackson.

jackson.

that was his name.

he came up to me one day at 2pm and as my hand reached for the bathroom key, i heard a crisp voice whisper.

“my name is jackson.”

jackson.

i felt cosmics collide within my brain as my tongue stuck to the inside of my mouth. it wasn’t until this wonderful stranger (jackson) laughed (and what a beautiful noise it was; i wanted it to be the soundtrack played on repeat throughout the rest of my life) that i realized my own words had dripped off of my lead tongue.

“mark...my name is mark.”

“i know. your name i