Richfield

This is were it all started.

Our old high school.

The football field.

The auditorium.

I look out my bedroom window,

remembering you drive that

beat-up bright jade dodge truck down my driveway

and being giddy to finally have a boyfriend.

You get out of the car,

a seventeen year old

dressed in your preferred style of

jeans and a short sleeved button down.

I get up from my desk.

Walk down the stairs.

Four years race by as I

walk to the door.

Your new rasberry colored scion

framed by my living room window.

No one else if home,

something that never happened in high school.

I open the door,

that seventeen year old boy,

replaced by a 21 year old man,

laden with car payments and responsibilities.

But your smile is still the same.

So much has happened in these four years,

birthdays, fights, kisses, even a break-up.

But you still come up to my door just the same.

A quick hello,

a kiss,

a hug.

Four years you have loved me,

will you love me through the next four?