When someone opens themselves up
And reveals the depths of their souls
Not even time, the heartbreak's greatest friend,
Will let you forget these parts of a person
That are shown by their actions, and not their words.

So she may have the same name,
Same colored hair, eyes, and skin tone,
Have my legs and my figure,
And even be my friend.

But only you know how to make this underhanded flattery
And blatant attempt of jealousy-inducing,
A way to hurt me beyond my comprehension.

I'm thinking of something
Red.

It's so soft,
And perfectly aged,
And smells like Old Spice
And your skin.

When I put it on
It hangs perfectly
Right above my knees,
And hides me from the world

A world that scares me
To have to face
Without you.

This piece of fleece,
This silly, stupid, sewn-together fabric,
Now lies folded perfectly
In the dark back corner of my closet.

The Matterhorn
Is now mixed with my
Chanel No. 5,
And the hood
Is covered in those
"Annoying stray hairs"
That you secretly loved.

Hidden behind stacks of sweaters,
It mocks me, waiting to find its rightful place,
But I cannot figure out where that is.

Wearing it
Hurts,
Seeing it
Hurts,
Throwing it away
Would **** me,
But finding a way
To return it
After all this time
Would be worst of all.

You might not know this.
But you made everything
Beautiful.

My memories of you and I
Are tinted a bright, rosy pink.
The color of happiness
And carelessness
And pure,
Helpless,
Innocent
Love.

They're filled with yellow sunshine
Flooding through your car windows,
Which wasn't the only source of our warmth.
Dark, blue rain gently pattering
Against our heads as you held me,
Washing away any and all notions
Of a world that didn't involve you and me together.
And flustered red cheeks pressed against my head, in relief,
When we spoke for the first time
And remembered all that we had lost
And would try so hard to never lose again.

And quite frankly,
Knowing life through a pale pink,
But having to see it through black and white,
Now,
Is so very unsatisfying.

Yellow is still the color of sunshine,
But I'm cold now.
Dark blue has not always been
The exact hue of my eyes.
And my red cheeks come out late at night,
When my liquid courage helps me forget you.

I suppose that,
With this logic,
I never knew beauty before you,
And will not know it any longer.

Do you
Even know
Who you are
Anymore?

Like a slap to the face,
Your name lights up on my screen.
My vision becomes blurred,
And the space around me starts
To lose it's clarity.
My face flushes,
And my mind goes blank.
I just stare at it a few minutes.
It looks foreign.
Maybe I'm just imagining this.

The voices in my head
Begin their chorus
"What does he want?"
"Don't read it!"
"He's thinking about you."
"You're not going to like what this says."
And before I can think rationally,
I watch my hand reach down,
And delicately lift up the phone.

My thumb shakily
Drags the grey arrow
Across the small glass screen.
I heard the click of the lock
Being hesitantly pulled open
And I'm halfway there.

I see the grey bubble
On the left side,
Small, but real.
Time: 7:32.
I double check,
and yes
It's definitely from you.
I take a deep breath
And read.

It's just a question.
A simple question.
You even use my name.
That stings.
I could respond a solemn yes or no,
And remind you that no,
We're not friends.
It still hurts.

I could respond a few words,
A sentence even,
In affirmation, filled with pleasantry,
But then you would really know
That it still hurts,
Because you still know
How to see straight through me.

I'm conflicted,
So I take the neutral path.
Short, but not blunt,
And devoid of all notion of emotion.

But its the next "ding"
On my cracked phone screen
That takes me aback.
Drag, click, read.
A new grey bubble appears,
"But when we were dating..."
And with the push of the small, silver button
Everything went black.

I still do not know
What the rest of the message said.
You can lock your phone
And hide a message,
From you tear-stained face.
But you cannot lock away
Floods of pain and memory.

I'll be honest.
Usually, I am not very good
At hiding things.

But this darkness
That has learned how to control me,
To manipulate and exploit me,
I am an expert at hiding.

I've learned the art of slipping out,
Fading away,
Making excuses,
Avoiding the subject.

Nobody needs to see
The girl they think has it all together,
Curled up on the hard wooden floor
Screaming out as anxiety
Chases her down a dark alley
And beats her to the ground,
Leaving her there,
Alone,
With the weight of the world on her shoulders.

I don't want to be a victim,
a sob story,
or a martyr to the cause.
It'd just be nice if everything could stop
Spinning.

I know you do these things
Just to spite me.

Just to prove,
That you know how to do things - bad things -
Without my knowledge
Or approval.

You remember a time before
You didn't care about my opinion,
A persona you think will be easy
To revert to again.

I see the look in your eyes
As you light up
And take "one" more hit
You're too far gone to care anymore
But I'm not.