I remember the way you used to hold me, as we were both cuddled on my couch, watching re-runs of my favorite show. I would laugh too hard at a joke and you would just smile and wonder how you ended up there.

I remember the way my head felt laid in your lap, the way I hummed in appreciation as you wound your fingers in my hair, my mind slowly drifting in and out of consciousness. The sound of your breath created an equilibrium I only reached when with you.

I remember how upset I was when you woke me up to say goodbye.

I would exonerate myself, telling my mind that the scars across my heart were not his fault, he had no idea.

I remember your texts at 2 in the morning, explaining in full detail the purpose of your midnight snack mission, our arguments about which fast food joint held the best strawberry milkshake seem so distant.

I remember us, but now it just seems like just you, and just I.

Good morning's and good night's aren't blended together anymore, I wonder if the world will ever smell like you again.

I still relish in those moments, wondering if one of these days, you will call me in the middle of the night and tell me you're outside my front door, waiting for me to open it. That it's about to rain and you're afraid of getting wet because you need to be held and you can't stomach the thought of me catching a cold whilst engulfing you

(due to the icy drops falling from your hair and into my eyes. Silly you, those are called tears, and they've already made their home.)

But that's not who we are anymore, because you no longer send me texts telling me why you're driving around the city in the middle of the night, and we don't spend hours in each others arms anymore.

You've discovered the one thing I've managed to keep hidden. And as you hold it between your fingers like some sort of work of art, you begin to study the chips and bruises, wondering how I could let such destructive damage be done. But you cannot see that it is you who has caused it to bleed. Now your nails are digging too deep and your grasp is too firm. And as it pumps out what is left of the love I have for you, dripping off of your fingertips and burning a hole through the ground beneath us, I know it is over.

You aren't fighting for me anymore,
you never really were.