I think the most painful thing is knowing that we may never see each other again.  That your lips will forget my name, that I will become just a fraction of your memory.  And you’ll fade from me too.  One day, I will realize that you were simply a step in the right direction, the beginning of a path leading to my destination.  But why, why did it have to be this way.  Why did you have to leave.  Now when I hear your name all I can think about is the life we could’ve built together.  How we could’ve grown up and grown old together.  All those things we swore we’d do.  That we’d travel the world, see places that previously existed only in our dreams.  We’d move somewhere, somewhere far away.  To a huge city with bright lights and fascinating people or to a tiny cabin in the woods in the middle of nowhere, it didn’t matter as long as we were together.  These things.  They never happened.  And now you are gone for good and I have never felt so alone.  I keep telling myself that one day, I’ll see you again.  Time will bring us together as it split us apart.  We’ll pass each other on the crowded sidewalk while we walk to work, each groggy eyes with a cup of coffee in our hands.  And then it will be like nothing ever happened.  We’d go back to how it was when we were in high school, when we were so young and naive and in love.  I’ll catch you up on all the things I’ve accomplished while you’re gone and I’ll rebuild my home in your heart.  All this false hope is what has kept me going these past weeks.  I haven’t been able to bring myself to face the truth until now.  The truth is, you will move on.  Maybe you already have.  You’ll move on, and I should too.  But I can’t.  I can’t.  Get over.  You.

today didn’t go as i planned.
i lost control around 10:00 am
when i felt as though a lung had collapsed
i had to take a (not-so) quick breather
in the stall of the girls bathroom
where i sat on the cold tile floor
i wanted to cry but no tears came
i wanted to scream but i couldn’t make a sound
i wanted to call you but then i remembered
so i sat there surrounded by the emptiness
only sound was my heavy breathing
and the a.c. clicking on and off occasionally
i wish i could do that with my emotions
turn them off when i get too cold

i am, what my friends so sarcastically yet exasperatedly say, 'an idiot'
why?
for many reasons
one being, it takes a solid ten seconds for anything even the slightest bit confusing to dawn on me and when it does it is expressed in the form of an over excited "oh yeah!"
"remember the english homework we got last week?"
.........
"oh yeah!"
two, i cannot drink and not drink to excess- but i'm working on it, i promise you best friends who have looked after me far too much on nights out where we should be dancing but instead they're holding my hands as i throw up ***** and cry over the dog that had wandered into the pub
three- all good things come in threes, right?
i'm an idiot because i care too much
not in the sense that i care too much for my friends and family, or that i care about what other people may think of me
no, i care too much about the boy that has already forgotten about me
i care too much about how he is and where he is and how he is and how he is and
he doesnt care about me
he's living his own life, like everyone else in this world, taking pictures and smoking **** and making friends and drinking coffee and doing what he does best while i sit here writing this poem wondering if he ever loved me
i dont think he did
i was just a distraction from her, who he said he was over but then why were her pictures still up on his wall staring directly at me when we would lie and talk about nothing and everything for hours and i was nowhere to be seen despite how he claimed i was "his favourite person" and now i know how little i meant to him because i am back here drowning and he is safe on land and he does not care
but i do
i'm sorry i'm an idiot
but my friends also say that it is endearing how i react to finally understanding a conversation, i can live with that
my friends say that i'll learn my lesson, and i most definitely have because i'm never drinking ***** again
my friends also say he didnt appreciate me, that he took me for granted and that i deserve better
i'm still working on that part.

Crushed flowers are beautiful,
dried, pressed
not useful but certainly nice to look at
My sister affectionately called me a 'delicate little flower' one of the many times you made me break down, crushed from false accusation
until i eventually dried up
pressed myself until the pain no longer hurt.
I wondered why i had become such a fragile thing
shouldn't heartbreak build you up, a learning experience rather than reducing you to a few petals and a stem.
i feel more like a tree
green and great during the warm summer months
unaware of the freezing winter winds that will blow away all my protective leaves. barren. cold.
i hope someday i will become evergreen
beautiful, tall, luscious and full- pine or cedar or spruce
staying fragrant all year round

but for now i remain a daisy
nothing special
dried, pressed and crushed between these pages, within these words.

i stand, rotting
a small wooden structure in a large city
barren and empty
one window, a single pane of glass

surrounded by skyscrapers
tall and terrifying
yet they too,
they too are rotting
windows smashed,
cavernous corridors tainted by crude slogans,
abused.

my small frame is fragile,
a foundation that is questionable,
my walls are depending on these skyscrapers
willing them to stay tall and terrifying
yet they are crumbling at the edges,
the debris beginning to become almost too heavy on my roof.