her love is stacked
such as her CD collection of adolescence
on her chipped wooden desk

her love is foreign
like the first two months
in a new place
a lot were untouched
and unfathomable

her love is subtle
similar to her honeysuckle scent
and humour

her love comes and goes
such as the rain and
sunshine

she felt too much of it, and decided to tone it down
little by little
until it is close to nil.

she swore she felt it when he came in,
in fact,
she did
because her cheeks were flushed
and palms oozed with sweat.

she's a quiet one,
however,
vocal when needed to.

she doesn't express much love or affection,
and because of its rarity,
it is treasurable when it happens.

but seek her opinions,
she would talk for hours long
and her face will light up
like the fairy lights she cherished.

she told herself to keep her conscience intact, there's no reason to get all flustered like a mere teenager. she is aware it will go back to the way it was once they exchange goodbyes and see you soon's...
quiet, comfortable and numb... she likes it... she has grown accustomed to it.

she was elsewhere when in the same room with her close friends and for some odd reason, she didn't belong there because she didn't want to, then again, she liked that they're happy even if she was physically in the far corner. however, it exhausted her despite the lack of participation and interaction she made -- being there was strangely uncomfortable and anything but homey. it didn't feel like home... she muttered to herself: these are your friends, why are you feeling out of place? 
she still doesn't know.

for the first time, home doesn't feel like home anymore.