For Music Club:
It was originally going to be for Show Choir (Seasons of Love) but then I decided to change it to the Riff-Off. So... the prompt is 'Season of Love' and it's a poem. :D It's about Katie and Oliver.
You meet him in the fall,
The tall boy
with the sandy brown hair. He asks you
to fly around the pitch, and to
throw the Quaffle at him.
You do. He catches it.
But one time, he misses,
and you watch the Quaffle fall
fall,
fall,
fall.
He catches it before it hits the ground,
but he didn't catch you,
and you're still falling,
falling,
falling,
falling.
You wish you could measure how much,
but you've fallen
farther than you intended
and there is no measure for that,
not that you know of.
You help him in the winter,
when the boy fell,
and kept falling
falling,
falling,
falling.
Everyone else is upstairs,
waiting for the boy
to stop falling
and wake.
But you
and he
are downstairs
and your boy-
not the boy, you think,
you feel bad, but Harry will be fine.
It's not the boy who's fallen you worry for
it's the boy who's falling still and
drowning,
drowning,
drowning. He drowns
as he falls
but you wish to catch him.
And you do, and no one
can measure how hard you fell
when you caught him.
You wish you could measure how much,
but you've fallen
farther than you intended
and there is no measure for that,
not that you know of.
And then, in the spring,
you watch as he leaves you,
and you're falling
falling,
falling,
falling.
He isn't there to catch you,
because he's gone,
and you're staying.
You wish you could tell him
how much you fell,
but there is no word,
no measure
for how much.
Not that you know of.
You see him one last time in the summer,
and this time,
you're leaving. You're running,
and falling,
falling,
falling,
falling still.
You wish you could stay and say
how hard you fell,
and you wish he could catch you.
But before you can say it,
you are gone,
and he is fighting
and you are running,
running,
running,
running,
and you've lost your chance to find your words.
He finds you, next time,
falling,
falling,
falling.
You're almost gone,
and you wish you could tell him,
how much you fell.
But there is no word,
not that you know of.
You keep falling, and you
think you're almost gone,
almost out of sight,
but then he does something,
something he never did before.
He catches you, and he
tells you
and you find that word you've been searching for.
And as his brown eyes meet your blue,
begging,
begging,
begging you to stay,
you smile,
and you know how to measure how far you fell.
He kisses you,
and you measure it
in love.
