I overstretched my arms into September,
you watched my limbs break off on the first day of November.
I counted the days until everything would come back together,
I ran out of fingers to count with.
I coughed up enough gun powder to finally go back,
knocked on your door,
dropped myself straight on the porch in front of me.
I rang the doorbell until my fingertip started to bleed.
Your neighbors are telling me to stop grieving over someone
who still has a pulse, but I can't stop looking at our pictures
like a finalized headstone after the engraver asks,

"Is everything spelled correctly?"

I'd tell him he carved in the wrong date of death,
that's not the day you left, you never left.
You're going to answer the door,
everything can come back together again.
I won't have to count the days anymore.

I'm still right here.
I know I'm here because the storm drain hasn't moved me yet.
It hasn't taken my head and shoved me under your debris,
because I haven't let it.
I spent so long trying to figure out where it hurts,
and wound up right here.
This is where it hurts,
I'm not on your porch, my fingertip breaking,
I'm laying right next to you,
your arm draped over my shoulder,
your groggy voice in my ear.
This is where it hurts,
This is where everything fell apart.
This is where everything will come back together.
Everything will come back together again.

I hope I never dance in a world
Where the sun doesn't say goodbye
By painting colors in the sky.
And my skin isn't my home.

I hope that I can forever feel
The ones I've loved
So our time doesn't feel rushed.
And I can see as far as my feet can take me.

They say that we are similar,
And I agree it's true,
But I think I've found out,
Why it is so easy to hate you.

You're everything I hate about myself;
Your ignorance,
Your arrogance,
Your rudeness.
Sure we're kinda similar,
But only because of this.

You use your jokes to hurt people,
Me, I build you up.
You could fight and fight all day,
Even when I've had enough.
You never seem to get bored,
With love,
With fights,
With sorry's,
Seems like it's all just for fun.
You're never bored
With the same routine,
And I think that's the thing I hated most about,
Me

whenever i'm in silence, i think of your voice.
i wonder what it's like to be your bedsheets,
or what it would really be like to understand the jargon in your head.
i want to kiss you sometimes,
then others i really do want concrete between your hands and my skin.
i can't think straight all the time so i wonder if it benefits me at all to explain what it means that i don't want or expect anything from you,
but if we were to accidentally fall in love,
i wouldn't say no.

i want to really understand what you mean when you say stay to me.
i keep thinking about stay and maybe i'm choked up on the past because people always say it.
they never really mean it, you know.
your smile, genuine or not, tears me in two.
i wish every face on the planet had your smile
and i am ******* afraid of you smiling at other girls.
i'm terrified of your bare skin and goodbyes.
i hate farewells and see you laters.
i knew the first time i saw you smile at me from across the room that this would happen.

i sometimes want to hear you say you want..
not so much me,
maybe me,
but my company.
what is this anyway?
i want to know what you are thinking about when i look up and you are looking right at me.
stay.
with your chest and skin and lips and everything i hate but crave and might like about you without saying so.
stay.
sit down and explain to me why it is that i care anyway.
i have harbored some of these thoughts since the night you first said hello to me.
i wanna know if any of this sounds familiar-

and here i am back to wondering what is going on and why you're doing this to me.
the hair on my neck stands on end when i think about your touch.
i cloud my feelings for you and anything else,
so you'll never really know if i hit rock bottom or not over the fact that i know we will never kiss again.
i don't know if these butterflies are waiting for me to jump or sit down,
but they speak up when my phone lights up and it's you.

i'm sorry i have to get over the fact that once upon a time,
i wanted to save somebody
and you weren't going to let it be you.
i do sometimes think your hands might break me,
and maybe i want that.
so stay.
say to me again stay.
i am sorry my words often wear brass knuckles.
your smile shoots to **** and if it ever hits,
know i still want to stay.

You needed more than just me,
I wasn't enough.
Not because I, as a person, am not enough
to love, or to spend time with,
but I, being where I am, or was,
and you being where you are, or were,
I could not, would not, and have never been able to satisfy you.
All this time, I was hating her for giving you
what I couldn't, but that was not it, was it?
I think that you needed someone else to give what I could,
but softer.

     How I love with my fists clenched,
     How I lean into a kiss with my teeth bared.
     The first time we spoke was about my dark eyes,
     and how it was hard to look through them.
     When maybe you wanted to talk about your friends,
     or that new show your sister told you about,
     maybe you needed me to listen and nod.

And that girl, how I hated that girl.
The way she wore flower dresses more innocently then I ever could.
I hated that she was more street smart
than book smart and the only sadness she'd ever known was
a messy room and no place to write.
I don't know if she writes, but I hope she does,
and I hope it's beautiful, and I hope it's about you
and your love, and it's better than mine.
That girl gave you feathery dreams and pillow kisses
when the sun was up and that girl laughed like she had
never held a gun, and that girl was ******* clueless, but soft.
And I was a brick wall
trying to pass for a window.

I understand now that I talk too much about my past,
that my cries for help are too loud, even when I'm quiet.
I understand that you needed a break.
A break from all of my heaviness and fast motion.
I gave you string theory,
she gave you small talk.