Under the oak tree
was where we first met.
You had jet-black hair
and dark brown eyes.
You wore a red shirt,
as I wore a red face.
Under the oak tree
was where we had our first unofficial date.
You and I sat together,
messed around,
and talked about whatever.
Under the oak tree
was where we had our first official date.
You brought the picnic supplies;
I brought the food.
Under the oak tree
was where we shared our first kiss—
your arms at my sides,
and mine around your neck.
Under the oak tree
was where we had our first argument.
You accused me of cheating,
after mistaking my brother
for a lover.
Under the oak tree
was where I had my first breakup.
You took me to the spot
packed with memories of us
and killed them all where they stood.
Under the cherry blossom tree
was where I had my second first date.
