Your whispers in French
made me forget
I don't know how to dance.
And I wondered,
if he could smell your raspberry bubble bath skin
would Louis Armstrong sing just for you
like you sang just for me
in the corner where we built our blanket fort,
where the lamp on the floor
was the only light in the room
besides the one in your eyes
whenever I spun you around
And I just know
if I had a voice like his
we would still be dancing.

this is the first time I've been able to write about you in a year, and hurts more with every character that I type.
you used to bring me joy and happiness, and now you bring me feelings of sorrow, pain, anxiety and depression. i'm still trying to figure out how that is possible, especially coming from you.
when we were still together, I used to lie awake at 4AM thinking about how much I love you, and how much it would hurt to lose you. i used to dream of owning a beautiful home on the lake with you, and every morning, I could roll over either way and see a beautiful sight.
on my left; a glistening lake
on my right; the love of my life
now, I lie awake at 2AM wondering what went wrong and how much I miss you. quite a transition, isn't it?