I chased you down the classroom hall,
but you did not notice when I fell.
Stumbling along various shades of cream-colored VCT tiles,
I followed you through the maze of open lockers and laughter.
In the shadows I wrote letters to you
in a white, college-ruled notebook that resembled how you appeared.
Pure, perfect penmanship, fine lines, and letters that flowed
in movements like ballerinas dancing the Nutcracker
on a stage with red, satin curtains.
If we were all meant to be dancers like you,
things would forever appear stunningly beautiful and graceful.
With two left feet, I lacked the poise to follow your movements,
but watched from afar jotting words and rhythms as you danced
through the classroom hall.