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Easily, easily she crept into my mind.

She smelled of the crunch of autumn leaves under boots, or rain on pavement, or possibly both together. I can’t distinguish between the two in the weakness of my memory. I’ve always wished there was a way to capture a smell like a picture, just to savor now and again. I would replay her entrance over and over in my mind if I could. I admit this one regret, though I try never to regret what brings me to the place in which I am still standing. I regret not savoring my own picture of her first appearance into my consciousness.
 Nov 2015 Joanna Rose
Not Lauren
That girl is lethal.

She'll drink your poison and fill your cup with her own when you turn the other cheek.

Her hand may be warm, but the flood gates holding back her bitter zeal will only hold for so long. She isn't unbreakable. You should know; you damaged her.

She'll siphon her tears down your throat until you're gagging on your own harsh words.

Never believe a word she says. She was never happy anyway.
 Nov 2015 Joanna Rose
Livia
I met the perfect boy;
Level-headed and kind
Humorous and forgiving

I liked to think that we could
Be together one day
But as Father Time relentlessly
Made me and said boy grow older
I saw that my dream
Was only that

I met the perfect boy;
Level-headed and kind
Humorous and forgiving

I met the perfect boy,
But I'm not the perfect girl
I realized after I wrote this that it kind of sounds like "I'm Not That Girl" from Wicked. Oh well.
It feels like I flew through dimensions and left my body behind before coming back and being in disrupted coherence with the way my fingers trace your jawline and how much a touch ignites a soulful consonance with breathing and hope.
It was having bad reception and losing my senses all at once and have them back a second later only to realize they have been dulled by the loss and the age old transition from now to then and then to now.
It was spending my nights writing about what you felt like, what your soul made me feel even when your lips say nothing at all, what I hear when your hand lightly brushes against mine and to document it all so that when you leave, I'll have something to remember you by.
It felt like having avalanches happen in your chest every time you look in his eyes because something in you gives when you think up the words you want to say but keep to yourself.

So I'll leave it to my imagination to draw the lines and create the realities that leave me wishing I was more dead than alive.
I.
It was just about to rain and the skies had darkened but let me tell you no matter how heavy the downpour is, I will love every inch of you - even the parts I shouldn't.

II.
Hearing you tell me you love me while I had just stepped out the door was like a wave crashing against rocky shores keeping it from kissing the shore.

III.
Holding your hand was the only comfort I knew and held on to even though it meant to last only a fraction of a second and you never meant for it to happen.

IV.
I filled my heart with a joy when I first met you and the consanguinity between us bloomed like a morning glory touched by the sun but you turned your back when the darkness came.

V.
Nights were used to think over every possible "What if..." and days were spent pondering on the concepts of "I should've..." but we both turned our backs when the storm brewed.

VI.
I could have loved and been loved in return. You could've loved and be loved in the end. Yet as the snow fell and the glass frosted, a coldness settled between our touch.

VII.
Your hands were warm when mine were chilled and I could hardly spend a night without wishing the bed wasn't as empty as it was and that you had come home once again.

VIII.
My stomach formed knots and bounded around my heart each time your silence creeped for hours, days, sometimes weeks. Had you already looked in the eyes of another?

IX.
They say that you should let go of the things you love so I let you go but you are convinced I had lost my love and I had you convinced I had given up on us.

X.
What happens when the truth is known? That a heart finds warmth in its coldness and the lack of you has been better for me than your omniscient presence?

**I love you.
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