I thought what we had was perfection
but it was nothing more than a projection
of the happily ever afters I read about
late at night under the soft glow of my phone.

We were full of quiet giggles in the darkness
intermixed with heart to hearts in the dim light of the dawn
but as the sun rose of over the windshield
it’s like all the love I thought we shared was gone.

Always stolen kisses in the shadows
with our hands constantly intertwined
whispering secret promises of tomorrow
but only leaving falsities and lies behind.

I never thought to question your truths
or take them to mean less than they seemed
but the happily ever afters in my books
apparently don’t always turn out like we dreamed.

Nothing is the same
yet other things never changed,
I’m still the moth drawn to your flame
waiting for the inevitable burn that will come again.
It’s just like I’m back at 18
crying on the floor in the bathroom at my parent’s house because you haven't respond to the text I sent
10,
      23,
                47 minutes ago.
The songs we used to scream sing with the window down in that old truck
now echo through my headphones louder than the crickets were the night we lied in the field
watching the moon rise over the mountain tops.
I’m not your Juliet,
that isn’t something new for you to know
I can’t keep biting my tongue
when you’re only my midnight Romeo.
I’m worth more than secret, late night randevus
and early mornings waking up in an empty bed.
I don’t like being sober,
but I’m tired of you leaving me hungover.
You know I would follow you
chasing every sun set as it turns orange and pink from a fading blue,
but I’m tired of only being good enough
for late night hotel room I love yous.

I wasn’t good at being alone
with the thoughts of my inability to be cherished
    treasured
  loved,
without his callused hands drawing out shapes on my bare back at two in the morning
after I knocked on his apartment door in tears for the third time this week.
I wasn’t good at fighting off the level of darkness that took over after the sun sunk down
below the top of the trees across the field from our favorite walking trail or when the cool breeze was flooding into the room from the crack in the window
that happened the night we drank too much ***** last July.
I wasn’t good at remembering
to double check and make sure the front door was locked
because you were always the one to turn off the lights and walk up those creaking stairs after me
while I waited curled up in your tshirt
anticipating the warmth your body would bring me.
I wasn’t good at being patient
while I waited for you to get home from going out
after telling me all about it but not inviting me to come along
because I didn’t fit in to your world.
I wasn’t good at speaking my mind
because last time I did I ended up wearing long sleeves when we went to the rope swing too afraid to take it off and expose the sensitive, colored skin underneath.
I wasn’t good at sleeping by myself
because the summer heat clung to my bedroom
and I couldn’t use the blankets to protect me from the monsters
I convinced myself would get me in my sleep
if I didn’t have the cotton fabric protecting me.
I wasn’t good at knowing when to take a hint
that I would never be more than a screenshot in your life
nothing more than a moment in time.
I should have known,
but then again, I guess I’m just now admitting
I was never any good at being alone.

It’s not supposed to be this way.
the confusion between us
leading me to words I’m afraid you’ll say.
You’re asleep on the couch but further
away then you were the night I drove us home from your favorite bar
two towns over from where you grew up.
Your head isn’t on my lap
with my fingers in your hair, humming a gentle melody
like your best friend played on his guitar the night we all sat in a circle in your mother’s living room.
It’s not supposed to be this way
counting down the hours only to then
actually regret the day.
Your arms holding a little higher on my waist,
our bodies not contouring into each other like they did
the summer we climbed that bridge and looked out
making the promise to never lose the feelings we had right then.
Your hand isn’t in mine
gently stroking your thumb across the top of my finger
like you did that warm September evening five years ago.
It’s not supposed to be this way,
questioning my decisions and thinking
I let you make the wrong choice last May.
As I sit here in silence with a tear starting to fall down my face,
I realize I’ve never been the one to not know what to say,
but all I can help but think is that I know
things weren’t supposed to end this way.

I told my mom that I quit smoking on that rainy Tuesday afternoon after the hurricane hit
because every store seemed to be out of that little white carton with red on the top.
I told my sister I stopped during senior year
because I was drowning in papers and would rather drink away my sorrows with beer.
I told my grandpa I didn’t need any money for cigarettes because I quit after grandma died last July;
I made a promise to her I’d find more natural highs.
I told my neighbor he didn’t have to worry about the butts in the drive way any more
because I swore to you I’d keep all my secrets hidden behind closed doors.
I told my nephew I quit because someone wouldn’t buy my old couch because it smelled too much like smoke
I thought they were kidding, but it wasn’t like one of your silly jokes.
I told that old school teacher I ran into outside the super market that I didn’t need a light
because I quit smoking in an attempt to lead a healthier life without living in fright.
I’m not saying I lied when I told everyone in this small town I quit,
but the truth is I’m craving more than just one last measly little hit.
Sitting alone in the room we once shared, I take one last inhale, letting the nicotine fill my lungs before throwing the **** to the floor,
I can’t stand the smoke, but the faint smell is as close as I can get to you anymore.

Summer’s coming to an end and even though the sun set hours ago,
there’s still a warmth in the air.
The room is almost dark
only illuminated with a candle and the sparse passing of cars outside the window of that little house.
The smell of caramel vanilla followed her as she walked from the kitchen
where she poured her third glass of wine.
She wasnt drunk
but the world was spinning a little faster than it normally did.
She knew what she was doing
she was fully aware
her eyes met his
and all he could do was stare.

Her body looked soft
like the blanket they lied on in the park
on the Fourth of July when they watched the fireworks bursting with color above their heads.
Tonight wasn’t like that though. There wasn’t any colors
or loud noises.
She was moving like a tiger
stalking its prey
waiting for the perfect moment to go in for the ****.

Three glasses turned into four as she made the trip down the stairs.
Her hips swayed as she walked
leaving a mystery of what was to come.
She stood there in the bedroom
looking out the window onto the dewy lawn
her skin glowed with elegance
but her curves screamed of ecstasy.
The neighbors across the street turned on their porch light
and the window lit up
creating a silhouette of the woman in front of him.
Her curly hair almost touched her waist as she arched her back and ran her fingers across the top of her hair.
She was beautiful,
strong,
powerful,
and full of everything he never knew he wanted.

It’s more complicated than just forgetting,
the last time I saw you in that shirt
you had one hand on the steering wheel
and the other on my thigh as we drove down the dirt roads of our small home town
having a destination in mind but not caring when we got there.
It’s not as easy
as singing along to that old rock and roll song your parents played on repeat that weekend we spent with them
in that log cabin in the mountains
where we ate foil packs and slept out underneath the stars every night.
I’m way past remembering who left last because it’s more complicated than counting the butterflies as they fly past
that bush in the front yard
of your grandparents’ house where we spent what seemed like every day
that summer we couldn’t get enough of each  other.
I can’t seem to forget the time you let me give you a haircut
after I had drank an entire bottle of wine
on an empty stomach because I refused to eat the dinner you made
out of fear I’d get fat and you wouldn’t love me anymore.
Now I realize, it didn’t matter if I ate that second cookie,
if I searched the sky for constellations with you,
or dreamed of living in the city because it doesn’t matter. You didn’t love me and I can’t go back

to arguing over whether we wanted  Spongebob or StarWars mac and cheese.
I cant go back to thinking the blankets on your bed will protect me from the monsters in the closet.
Your arms were both a comfort and a weapon as you pulled me closer
grabbing my waist as sweet apologies flooded from your lips as the rain fell around us
coating me in memories and regret.
I wanted to forget tonight and every night
with you.
The pitter patter of rain drops hitting the pavement provided background noise as your hands danced across my body.
The thunder cracked and I realized no amount of blankets could protect me from the monsters in the closet
because they were inside us.
Living,
breathing,
searching for one another.
“Forgive me” you whispered kissing my hand like you did that first night we spent alone

in your room. You said you were sorry
but your green eyes couldn’t be more unapologetic.
The thing is this time I couldn’t just forget.
It wasn’t that easy
because you were more complicated than that.