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.