One moment, you’ll start to realize
how much their touch could melt your skin,

and how their words bled
with empty promises

but could fill your soul,
starving for security, trying to fix the cracks.

And there will be agony,
but you’ll mistake it all for love.

One moment you’ll see yourself in their eyes—
lifeless—buried in tragedies, unable to escape

and there, you’ll stay.
Not in their life, but in their eyes,

burning with catastrophe;
there will be flames, devouring your insides

and you will mistake gasoline for your patience

Send a postcard,
Don't forget where we left off
The nights under the pier,
Tides that crept up our ankles,
kissed the sand we loved so dearly,
I wish you were here,
The sun doesn't set the same

“I messed up.”
I only wish it didn’t
take you this long
to realize.
“Can we talk?”
My whole body aches,
yearning to say yes.
“Are you there?”
Yes, I am here.
“Please answer.”
I surely don’t think
I have that strength.
“I still love you.”
My heart beats,
my stomach churns.
“You were the best
thing that ever
happened to me.”
Funny,
I used to think the same
about you.
“Why aren't you answering?”
“Because for 7 months;
I waited.
You tore me apart,
it felt like I was drowning.
You didn't even look back.
Not once.
How can I just forget that?”
I hit send.
“I’m sorry…”
“I’m sorry too.”*
Except this time,
I don’t hit send.

I don't want to *******.
No, I want to be the midnight air
seeping into your pores,
witness the horrors
of your mind
and make them no more
I wish to row,
                    row,
                           row,
gently down your stream
of consciousness
and to arrive safely
at the solutions
to all your heart's
conundrums
and hope to God
that I am one of them.

I'll make love to you,
if you want to, too,
or lie silent in the night,
syncing heartbeats,
never touching you.

But I don't want to *******.

I want to set sail to your words,
to conquer the ebb and ride the flow,
establishing allies and vanquishing foes

I want to know the history
of every mystery
that you find compelling,
to correct your m̶i̶s̶p̶e̶l̶l̶i̶n̶g̶s̶  misspellings.

To be the lyrics to your favorite song
to be the sunrise when the nights get long
Yes, I long to be the object of your sideways looks
and to sleep between the pages of your favorite books

To stare in admiration at your eyes
like constellations
and wish on every star
to know every part of who you are

To have my sun-baked skin
be consumed by the waves
on the curves of your face

To trace and map
every landmark
on your effervescent skin
and be the nervous sweat
that clings to it

I want to let your strong lungs intake me
and let your cool air sustain me
and pray that you might save me
a spot in your heart

I wish to start pulling your mind's
fibers and wires
and to start a fire
under your frozen tongue
and be the unsung hero
who rescues you from yourself.
I want to silence your loudest thoughts
and embrace your silent tears
and I want to make this clear:

I do not want to *******.

I want to be inside you.

You said you're not a writer
But I think you're wrong
For when you touch me I feel your soul
You write poems on my skin with your lips
And sonnets with your fingertips
And if your heart poured forth ink
I'd be black with your love

I remember when we were friends and
we could just sit and listen to music in your room.
The Beatles want to hold your hand,
but I thought Not nearly so much as I do.

When we weren't dancing to old grooves,
or laughing about the newest fad,
I'd see a glimpse in your eyes of the true
sadness that you had; Those eyes were so **** sad.

That's where it began, I think.
The sadness is what made you beautiful to me.
I tried to hold your hand, that night,
but you pulled it in horror away from me.

Though the way you recoiled from my touch alarmed my soul,
I wasn't surprised to know. Still, it hurt, I'll admit,
it hurt more than words could describe for me to know
you for you: a beautiful puzzle piece for which I was not the right fit.

I remember the days, though they seem so long ago.
I remember when we were such fast friends.
When we weren't, (I wasn't surprised to know)
that's where our story dies bitter; So it ends.

nobody warns you about the first boy who tells you he wants to marry you.

nobody warns you about the tangible shift in the universe when he parts his lips to smile.

nobody warns you about the poetry he'll write you or how your knees will weaken or the melancholy hidden between the layers of his laughter.

nobody warns you that miles will morph into lightyears and you will curse the ocean for being the only thing that keeps his fingers from resting between yours.

nobody warns you about the day his sweater doesn't smell like him anymore.

nobody warns you that human hands are incapable of holding a person together.

nobody warns you that sometimes love is not enough, no matter how much you wish it was.

nobody warns you about the crippling nostalgia that renders you breathless.

nobody warns you about the nights when silence screams for your blood.

nobody warns you about the crater that forms in your chest in the middle of the night when he doesn't answer.

nobody warns you about how it's going to feel when he tells you he's in love with someone else.

nobody warns you that forever is a lie.

- m.f.