Fall in love with the way his voice shakes when he tells you he's scared to lose you
Fall in love with the way he smiles when you kiss his cheek while he's trying to sleep
Fall in love with the way he gives you goosebumps when he whispers sweet nothings in your ear
Fall in love with the way his fists clench when he gets frustrated because he can't explain how much you mean to him
Fall in love with how he plays with your fingers when he's lost in a conversation with you
Fall in love with the way his voice can calm your most vicious demons.
Fall in love with the way his lips melt into yours every time he kisses you
Fall in love with the way he brushes your hair out of your face so he can get a better look at you and tell you how beautiful you are.
Fall in love with how much he annoys you and pokes at you, but makes up for it by drowning you in kisses.
Fall in love with the way his laugh travels through your entire body, exciting every nerve.
Fall in love with the way his eyes light up and his lips curl into a crooked smile when you tell him that you love him
Fall in love with the way he falls asleep with his arm wrapped around you and pulls you closer when he wakes up for a quick moment
Fall in love with every piece of him

You wrote our story on my skin with your fingertips, except our story wasnt gentle. It was full of cuts and bruises and that's why I have so many scars



                                B.S.

Have I always loved you or was I in love with the idea of being in love with you? Loving you wasn't all that I made it out to be. I imagined loving you would feel like the crash of the waves of the ocean hitting my waist while hearing the laughs of kids who are just meeting the beach for the first time in their lives. I imagine loving you would feel like rainy days in the summer that last for three days straight and make the grass and plants look greener than ever. I imagined loving you would feel like the first warm day of spring after enduring the bitter winter for three months. I imagined loving you would feel like discovering the most beautiful place I  just recently had the privilege of exploring.  But what was loving you really like? Loving you felt like getting the air knocked out of my lungs after falling while ice skating when I was a kid. Loving you felt like my first skinned knee after falling off my bike while learning to ride it without training wheels. Loving you felt like the first time I got too drunk and the room started spinning and nothing could stop it. Loving you wasn't all I made it out to be. Maybe I didn't love you, maybe I did. All I know is, that's not what love is supposed to feel like on my side. Maybe you loved me, maybe you didn't. I know the words you spoke, but I don't know what went through your head. I just hope the next girl who loves you feels something different than what I felt.

People always talk about finding "the one," the one who completes them and makes them feel like a unified being. I hate to break it to you, babe, but you're not "the one" for me. You're much more than "the one". You're more like the "the seventeen" and maybe even one day you'll be more like "the sixty three". Now you're probably reading this and thinking "what the **** are you even saying?" Which is a valid question because I don't know what I'm talking about most of the time either, but you already knew that. What I mean by this is you're not just one big lump of you. There's so many different you's that's put into one body. There's a you that makes me laugh uncontrollably and a you that makes me want to tear my hair out. There's also a you that knows how to calm me down and a you that protects me when I can't protect myself. There's a you that walks me to my car even when it's just a minute away. One day, there might be a you that argues with me about what color we should paint the walls of our living room and who knows, there might even be a you who loves your kids more than anything, but a you who puts your foot down when you think they're getting out of line. So, no. You aren't "the one." You're the endless amounts of you and I want them all in every possible way.



                                    B.S.

Her last words
preserved in his empty heart,
like ashes kept in an urn-
to remember the times
when she is not
and
the time
when they were.

I write you
all these poems
wanting to give them all
to you.
But I hold them back
and keep them
for the time being
because you are not ready.

But sometimes I wonder,
do you secretly write
songs about me
the way I not-so-secretly write
poems about you?

Oh, you think you know me?

Do you know what I think about and struggle with daily?
Do you know what truly lies in my heart?
Do you know how I think of myself?
Do you know the terrible things I wish I could do to myself?
Do you know my hopes and dreams?
My disappointments?
Do you know why I'm depressed?
*Sorry, but you don't know me