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I stare into the eyes of a stranger
A stranger who was once my first love.
I tiptoe slightly to reach his lip because we are once again going our separate ways.
We are 19 and 20, yet 15 and 16 don't seem so long ago.
His hug is soft and he is gentle in embrace as I remind myself no one can ever really take his place.
Dinner and talking, but more like avoiding our real feelings because it has been so long since we've seen each other, and I thought I lost him for good, but again he stands in my life for another confusing night, and while his aura shines so brightly, I am still clearly misunderstood.
I sat and touched his arm as he made me laugh til my stomach cramped.
It felt like our first date, so new and fresh,
and all of a sudden our relationship wasn't my biggest regret.
You have to understand, he was my moon, my sun, my clouds, my sky -- but he isn't that sixteen year old anymore.
At some point in time the world changed him, maybe I changed him, maybe we both wronged him, maybe he is another lost black man, and so I continue to pretend he is still the same person who talked to me for hours until my eyes closed, shutting out the picture of my first real cell phone.
Then I'd dream of him and pray he'd never leave me alone because my soul had found a home,
but he never really knew the entire extent of my love.

I stand here hugging him on Sterling in Brooklyn, and he held my hand tightly as he walked me to the subway station and everything felt like a year ago but better, because there was no pressure.
He hugged me like he still loved me -- but I know better.
The L word is off limits because we are in the unknown.
I am still only his pretend lover. I only gave him four years of my life up to this point.
And as I tiptoe to kiss his lips,
I show him true affection, my gestures are meaningful, but I am learning to disguise their meanings.
I am learning to seperate the girl and the friend because I can never be his friend.
I love that 16 year old boy too much to be only a friend,
But this stranger in front of me has only kind of, sort of grown up and he's moving back a couple thousand miles away, so again I wonder why fate threw him my way.
He is my pretend lover when he kisses me and touches me because he is pretending that he didn't cause me so much pain.
This stranger cannot wipe tears away but maybe I am a stranger too because months of crying forced me to change.

So I pretend to give my all,
But really none of us are the same,
And my futile teenage years have taught me you cannot force someone to change.
Perhaps one more kiss on a Friday night in Brooklyn, perhaps one more moment to pretend there weren't moments we wanted to physically hurt each other.
Perhaps we will really move on because my moon, sun, clouds, and sky have all become myself.
So there is no water left in my tearducts and no lies for me to hear because I am no longer that naiive 15 year old girl,

Only his pretend lover.