not-to-forget

He looks a little bit like Kurt Cobain when he air-guitars during Stairway.
I’ve been sitting here for a while now, too sick to sleep, and the sun’s been rising in the window behind me, and I turned around a moment ago and it was light. It’s almost six, I wish he’d call me but know he won’t or can’t or both. I wonder if anyone has told him I am not at camp.
I wonder why I think about him so much, and how I’ll deal since I’m not away, falling hard for pretty artists. I’m here, meeting no one, falling for no one, crushing on no one but him. It is somewhat problematic. I see a book of Forever stamps on my desk, now, and think “forevermore” and of him and the others and god, I want to go back home.