its time to say goodbye to paris
to the dreams of you/a typewriter/ an early morning cigarette
to you forgetting your coffee until its grown cold
to the muse I used to be with a glass heart and amber dreams
a golden room collects dust and unfulfilled daydreams
I erase our paris from my memory

try to breathe in.
try to breathe out.
his hands are on my sternum.
my mind blacks out the image.
i’m wringing my hands together.
no...i’m pulling my hair.
his breath is on my neck —my ear.
i’m pressing my palms into my eyes.
i’m not sure oxygen is making it to my lungs.
he’s making animalistic sounds.
he’s thrown my body into shock.
it’s like watching in slow motion.
—wait. no.
it’s another girl.
and another.
and another.
it’s me.
it’s her.
god, i hope it’s not you.

I need you to understand. I will always love you, even in your broken.
Not in spite of it or because of it, but as a result of it.
I buy dead roses so they can see their beauty in my reflection when they wilt away.
I can’t leave broken glass figurines where they may never find a home.
So when you’re trying to piece yourself together, or start to fall apart, know that I love you.
And I can only hope that you still love me too.

sad songs feel like you.
—happy ones too.
love songs scream how much i wish i stayed
heartache ballads follow the rhythm my heart breaks in, slow dancing with me in candlelight
sweet melodies the only relief from silence sent from hell
the only love i’ll know until i’m no longer a million miles from you