Sometimes
She felt his skull could crack under the passion in her fingertips 
And wouldn't that be beautiful
To end here, in the immediacy of desire
And wouldn't that be kinder?
Than the drawing out of this pain of inevitability 
The guttural ache
Before the final crack
The splintering, not of bone
But of two hearts 
Prised apart by the fingernails of realisation 
That their shattered fragments can never make each other whole.

Ascend your forts and burn your castle,
Let's ride a boat and surrender to the hustle.
Let the waves revolt and swallow us to a forbidden city.

|Our bodies will become one|
|Our hearts are one|
|Our souls will forever be one|

Ascend your forts and burn your castle
Unfinished puzzles, missing pieces,
Broken promises and voiceless words
Our love will break and we'll suffer a heartache.
Our masks will fall and scars will form.

A runaway king with a flawless beauty,
You'll regret your choice but will choose me inevitably...

Pain is separation from you.

To be loved by a writer
Is to be immortalized
You will live on forever in her writing
Your quirks,
Your ideas,
Your insecurities,
Writers notice everything
And we never forget
You might catch her smiling at you
For what seems like no reason at all
But she's just trying to describe
The exact color of your eyes

To be loved by a writer
Is to have your entire relationship in written word
All you have to do is read and re-live everything again
Your first kiss,
Your first fight,
Your first date
Nostalgic memories in chronological order
And you may even learn something you never knew
Since everything will be in her point of view

To be loved by a writer
Is to see her frustration
Because she wishes she could be an artist
Since no words serve you justice
She wishes she could just paint a picture
And then they would understand
Because no amount of words could perfectly depict
Your hair sticking up,
Your abundance of freckles,
You wearing glasses
She gets upset when she thinks
She'll never fully portray all the things you say and do
But she'll never run out of ways to say "I love you"

To be loved by a writer
Is to be eternal
And to never fully disappear
And no matter what, she'll see you everywhere
Even when she opens her mind and escapes reality
Because she is the writer
And you are her writing
For you own her heart
From which her words flow

I still miss you, sometimes.
In the aching quiet of the night
When my thoughts wander to the smiles
And the laughs, and kisses.

I remember how you looked at me,
Like I was the answer to a thousand questions
I know you answered all of mine
Or at least, you did at the time.

You taught me lessons.
Like how to sing freely,
And how to love
Both openly and cruely.

I'm starting to forget your voice
And the way your hand fit in mine.
The smell of your skin
Has long since been washed from my sheets

I know we'll never be friends
You don't want to see me again.
And that's alright.
Thanks for the adventure.