I look in the mirror
I can only see pieces.
You have taken so much of me, darling.
There are holes the shape of your hands
all over my body.
Big and gaping.
I don't remember what I look like without them.

You were real.
I had fallen in love with words
in a letter before.
With promises made
over telephone lines
thousands of miles apart.  
You were real.
Skin and bones.
Big hands and blue eyes.
For six months
I fell asleep to your voice.
I don't sleep much anymore.

We were just friends.
You didn't want me
but you gave me the stars
and your lips and those
hands--******* those hands.
You didn't want commitment
but if I could have just kept your mouth
on my mouth and my legs around
your waist
If I could have kept you
in the backseat of your car
If I could have made the stars
hang in the sky forever
If I—
I didn't want to fall in love with you.
You should have never held my hand.
You should have stayed.

There's a sad boy who loves me now.
We're just friends
but I give him my body and sometimes
when I close my eyes, his hands
feel like yours.
I don't tell him I love him.
He knows I couldn't.
The sad understand—
we only love the ones
who can't love us back.

At night,
my fingers itch and
I write you letters
you will never read.
It's always the same
two sentences:
*Never tell a sad girl
you love her.
She won't believe you
until you leave her.