Lonely College Food Court Poem

I wrote this about a month into my freshman year of college. (which sounds all wistful and nostalgic, but now I’m only about two months in. Ha.) There’s something absolutely magical about how a harshly-lit food court can pull emotions out of you.

I can’t hold your hand from here. 
It’s not far—in fact, it’s hungrily close. 
So I reach down to my shadow and grab on tight, 
And try to make do with my ghost. 

It’s a bit cold for shorts in September—
My hair stands on my legs with a shiver. 
So I rub my knees with the hand that you’d hold: 
The one with the cactus sliver. 

I trade quiet cafeteria for the trill of the crickets. 
The lights hide the stars, but I know that they’re there. 
So I wonder instead if my eyes don’t quite work, 
As they make streaks and lines from the glare. 

I saw you today. But I miss you much still. 
I think that’s normal. I think that’s okay. 
So I head back inside; I kick off my shoes. 
And quietly process my day.

Poetry’s always been a good outlet for how I deal with complex and weirder feelings. This one was hastily typed on my phone as I blearily walked home. I think it’s important to note that the line about “streaks and lines from the glare” doesn’t mean I was crying–I’m actually pretty sure I have an astigmatism or something, because they are always doing that once it gets dark. It’s annoying!