my love for you has become
irrelevant
with too many years
too many different cities,
too many love affairs
and dreams that weren't
about you

but part of me still loves you
(and is always going to)

and part of you is still
breaking
my heart.

and so my life turned out
to be a snow globe

and far away from you
it would slowly settle
down

into peaceful, quiet
beauty;


but you'd come
to shake it up
and it'd turn out
more interesting, yes:
full of glitter and
wonder and life but

mostly full of chaos

and all over the place.

i don't believe in many things
but i believe in you

and this is what i should have said
when you started to burn
bridges,
not only behind
but in front
of you.

I wrote a love letter to literature.

It is the only thing I have
believed in.

but would it be worth
discovering you
if I could read
your mind?

replaced sleep with coffee

to keep myself from dreaming
of you.

(and when winter comes
you'll be breaking my heart.)

I memorised the dictionary
and I still cannot
describe you.

i was always a bit
too honest
with myself;

too patient
with you.

it seems there is little virtue
in abundance;
   but your smile makes up for most of it.

I remember promising
to always be honest to you in a world
of little sincerity.

I like
         the way you smile
               with your eyes

And when I told you "I love you",
I meant it.

i love you
which is
unfortunate
at best
but if you
love me
back
i’ll make you
breakfast
in bed
and i’ll try
not to
break
your heart
or something
like that

her eyes are like a summer rainstorm:
in a way I can’t explain, they
capture me, and make me feel like
nothing matters but the rain