i'm a writer by nature
but that doesn't always mean my head's in the clouds
it means my mind steals bits of reality
pieces of people
and lines from others
i forget my place and
try to act as the main character
to create experiences
but wallflowers
are the best writers of all

"See, I don't always have that luxury. . .
I don't get to play with his fingers while our hands are clasped together,
or mess up his hair because it looks soft.
I can't feel the shape of my body mold perfectly with his in a hug,
or feel his slightly chapped lips kiss my cheek when I do something silly,
or even steal his glasses, hoping he'll chase me around to get them back.
I can't hear his heartbeat when I lay on him,
or smell him whenever we fall asleep on each other.
I don't get to see him look me in the eyes when we talk face-to-face,
or compare our heights side-by-side in the mirror,
or have him try on my clothes to find that they're way too small and girly.
I can't look at him from a side profile while we watch TV,
or watch him make us a snack at midnight.

Instead, I have to look at my camera, and not those ever changing blue, green, and grey eyes.
Instead, I think about him while I walk my school halls and wonder what his weather is like.
Instead, I have to touch and hold my own hands where his would be.
Instead, I have to cry into the hoodie I stole that only has a drop of his scent left on it.
Instead, I spend my time online finding the cheapest plane ticket to go see him.
Instead, I stay up until 2:17 in the morning because I find myself missing his lips.
Instead, I dream of the day we can be together without 650+ miles between us.

I knew this pain would be here,
I knew it would haunt me.
And I knew it would hurt like my soul was being torn into a thousand pieces,
and my heart was bleeding onto my skin from the inside out.
And I knew that when things go wrong back at home, we won't always be there to hold the other.
But if this is what it takes to be with the person who makes me want to wake up to see the sun shine again,
if this is what it takes to be with the man that makes me want to live when I wanted to be thrown in a box with the oxygen off,
if this is what it takes to be with the one who showed me that love wasn't dead,
and pulled me out when I was trapped in my thoughts,
to feel what true love is?
oh I'll do it all. . . for him and me.

You know?"

i wrote you
a letter every day
letters to tell you
just how i feel

written in neat, curved
writing i told you
just how sweet
i thought you were
how you made my heart
glow

letters in which i wrote
with various colors of ink
pouring out my whole being
to you

i wrote you
a letter every day.

i wrote you letters in which
i told you how you made me
bloom.

eventually
i found myself
pressing harder on
the paper
than i had before.

creating tears in them
similar in shape
and size
as the ones
inside of me.

i began to send
letters
with creases
and bumps
and stains
splattered with tears

pouring
from my eyes

as i wrote
the anger
bubbling within me.

my last letter
addressed to you
contained
no words

but was blank.
because
i had none that

could reach
as far

and deep

into the cracks
of my
heart

to describe
just
what you

had left
of me.