I crave to be gazed at during sunrise
with fingers tracing the edges of my frame.
Brown eyes should reflect the yearning present in mine
and be colored with the eagerness of being forever close.
The peonise outside of our window would sway in the calm breeze
that enclosed our home, brushing against each brick.
We would bask in the warmth of our sheets
and inhale the air that was contaminated with each song of love that we breathed.
There would only be you and I, eternally bathing in the scent of being in love.

I wake up and see you.
I go to sleep. And see you.
I pick up my phone and see you.

I see - salty water marks on my pillows,
a heaving chest expanding and contracting with a tremble, and
I see a gray haze covering the surfaces I no longer wish to touch.
I see somber flowers and I see candles that struggle to give off light even in the dullest of days.

I see until the pain creeps back in and reclaims my clear eyes once again.

Gazing upon his honey comb skin made my eyes glisten, yearning to discover the crevices in which peaked out from under his short sleeves. The bright and sunny days were the best. The weight of the world that seemed to weigh my shoulders down on any given day suddenly disappeared when the gleaming green eyed boy threw me a grin with his perfect milky teeth and peachy lips. Oh my...
When he pulled his full peachy lips apart to expose my favorite smile, my irritated bones started to know their purpose. They stood strong and gave me the support that I needed to be able to take in every detail of him so that my memories would ring clear and precise. The sky was bleak when my personal sunshine went away for the night taking its luminescent high with it leaving a piercing empty darkness in its stead.

A five by eight enclosure is too quiet and dainty, perfect for thinking. Awful just awful.

Fiberglass is too cold to be cozy and air doesn't circulate better when standing up.

White water doesn't have a grip when it falls at a rapid speed and the drops continue to fall a victim to gravity without regard.

Sitting there, skin to the cold cold bottom feels so lonely, sending emptiness back and forth and up only to send itself back down to it's home. It's honestly dreadful..

There's nothing to distract from the burning.. No white noise to quiet the mental rumblings..

Eyes closed, breath stalled, fingers trembling, chilling thoughts at bay, finally engulfed.

I took a bath today.

I want to know what it feels like to wake up pretty.
To not have to line my lids with eyeliner just to face the day.
To be carefree and twirl through the streets with a smile on my face.
To wink at strangers whose eyes gaze upon my body and blush because all the boys stare.
To have a soft face and to have flowing hair.
To not have beauty marks on my face and to not have rough skin.
I want to know what it feels like to close my eyes and feel the sun caressing my skin making me glow like the moon.
To be content..
To feel like a flower dancing through the grass, to be special and not put last.
I want to know how it feels to love myself for everything that I am. To wake up and like what I see looking back at me when I'm brushing my teeth.
I want to know.
I want to feel tied to the earth, bound by people who admire me.
I want to be one of those girls who are unforgettable, who stop breaths and dazzle eyes.
I want to fall in love with me and wake up pretty.

Who is this girl wearing my clothes? Who was this girl lying in my bed just a second ago? Surely she isn't the same girl who enjoys sneaking out to study the stars on a warm summer night, so what was she doing here? Who is this girl, walking in my ratty Vans?
Her eyes drooped from late nights of over thinking, making her age about ten years.
Look at her, she stood as if her legs would give out at any moment.  
Our eyes met for a fraction of a second before she looked away from embarrassment. She shouldn't be embarrassed.. She just needed a good nights rest and a nice meal for sure..  As I reached out to touch the ghostly girl, to let her know that everything was okay, my hands slid down the slick, cold glass that made up my dresser's mirror.
A morning routine.