I fell in love with a boy who wears his brown eyes like he's flaunting the pools of honey they create when the sun hits them. He smiles at the ground the same way he smiles at me; it pulls at the curves of my mouth and I glow when his eyes find rest in mine. He walks with his hands tucked deep in his pockets but I always prefer when they're holding me. He chews his fingertips out of habit and he sleeps with a pillow tucked between his knees. He drinks his beer strong and his voice is deep, like a hollow wind rushing through a cave. My favorite sound.
He’s my early morning coffee. He’s the overpass when it rains. He keeps me safe when the world bears it’s weight and the way his eyes look at my lips before he kisses me puts me at ease but takes my breath away.
The most beautiful thing I’ve ever done is loved him. I fear he’ll never be able to understand how much, and for that, I write.  
Because if the world and all it’s cruelty brings a day where he’s no longer mine to love he can never doubt that my heart always beat for him; that my pens spilled ink on blank pages in desperation that he understands just how much it did.
I fell in love with a boy with dark hair and brown eyes. But this isn’t a poem about him, this is a poem about me. My words will live on long after I am gone and although this may not be seen by everyone it will be seen by someone. It will be seen by him. And maybe he’ll remember it, and maybe he’ll understand.
Love doesn’t happen like this for everyone, and it never happens twice. But it happened to me, it happened with you.
You will find my heart swimming in a pool of honey.

While bearing the weather of a storm, you don't consider the aftermath; you don't consider the damage that's being done. In that moment, all you can do is brace yourself. You hide, tuck your head between your knees, close your eyes and try to convince yourself it isn't happening. The ground shakes, the wind whistles through the cracks of the doors and it feels like the world may fall from beneath you, but you bear it. And then, after what feels like a piece of forever, the wind settles, the rain stops and you can breath easy. You survived. For a while, you think it's over. The calm is a silent whisper convincing you that you'll be okay. You think all is passed. Until you look up, step outside your home and see the damage that's been done. The gardens that have been destroyed by fallen trees, the broken windows of the house down the street, the flood of water from the rain that swallows everything in its way. That's when you realize; the worst part has only just begun.

Losing you was the storm. It was slow at first, then it progressed as time went by and became aggressive...angry. It was loud, it came with too many words that should have remained unsaid to save ourselves from the damage. But you see, you didn't consider the aftermath of breaking me. You didn't care enough to spare me the pain of forgetting every promise you ever made me; telling me things that to this day create thunder in the back of my mind on the sunniest of days. I braced myself, convinced myself we could survive this. I convinced myself that your anger was a cloud that needed to release its rain. And rain it did. But it's been days since it stopped raining and I'm still coughing up water from the flood you left behind.
Just when I thought we were in this together, you couldn't handle the changing weather and I'm here in a pile of broken branches with bruised feet and ****** knees wondering how I could have avoided this. What happens when the one thing I tried to protect is destroyed? What happens when it's my heart?

How do you fix the aftermath of a storm when its somewhere your hands can't reach?