“The Abbey in the Oakwood,” oil on canvas, by Caspar David Friedrich, 1810.
I no longer find it romantic,
how before the sun dazzles the waking
with dancing oranges, reds, and pinks,
the nighttime cedes its blackness to
a soft shade of blue—
Congratulations, you’ve awoken before the world.
I no longer find it romantic,
how fireflies really do look like flickering stars
(trite, but truthful),
or how on summer nights my heart is struck by the inevitability
that I will leave this world,
not the other way around.
I no longer find it romantic,
the dreaming after the drinking
—before the nausea comes—
when we turn into the kind of people
people write stories about:
gorgeous, wild, and young.
I no longer find it romantic,
the city skyline from my rooftop.
We thought we were so alive then,
dangling our legs off the balcony.
We blew smoke into neighboring windows
and I never felt more alone.
Alexei Varah is a student at Hunter College High School in NYC.
