Nineteen, I'm turning nineteen on Monday.
Eighteen, the birthday I knew I was in love with you.
Seventeen, we spent the night drinking tequila and skinny dipping.
Sixteen of my poems are about you.
Fifteen, the year I didn't see you in the shadow of someone else.
Fourteen, the day I left.
Thirteen, the times we've spoken in the past 6 months.
Twelve photos of us together.
Eleven more of you.
Ten, it's around this time I start to miss you.
Nine songs reminding me of you.
Eight notes humming your name.
Seven hundred and sixty
Six miles from you to me.
Five times I've cried in your car,
Four not knowing that there would be
Three words that I couldn't say, because you stayed
Two minutes, when I needed
One hour; alone with you.

Nineteen, I'm turning nineteen on Monday.
And for the first time in four years, you won't be there.

It’s 3:40 AM
and
I can’t feel my hands
but
I’m still thinking
about
how your skin would feel
under
the tips of my fingers.

they're scary things,
our dreams.
they tell us so little,
but reveal so much.

the hidden truths
in the corners of our minds.
the little pieces
of people,
and things,
that we think we've forgotten.

so what to they mean,
these silly things?
when we dream of travel,
does it mean we need change?
or when we have nightmares,
is the nightmare our life?

i've never been one
to think dreams have real meaning,
but i can't help but wonder
if this dream does.

they say friendship
should fill you up
and make you happy.
that your friends
are like your chosen family.

so why
am i
so
hollow?

take me home,
back where i belong.
take me to the yard
where i used to run.
take me somewhere they won't find me,
take me somewhere where i can roam.

oh let's go home.

i'm pretty sure
i'm falling for
the boy i said
i would
never
fall for

i'm pretty sure
i'm falling
too hard
too fast
for him to catch me

i'm pretty sure
that he
will never
love me

sometimes, i
lie around
on saturday
mornings.
and i imagine
myself in
a few years
living in
new york
in a ******
loft with
a beautiful
british artist.
i imagine
that he loves
me and i
love him.
we talk about
art and music
and the films
we want to
see together.

but then i
realize that
i don't want
to spend my
saturdays
with anyone
but you.

this is not a love letter
and i'm not
going to tell you
all the reasons
i've fallen for you

this is not an invitation
and you're not
going to waltz
into my heart again

this is not a confessional
and i'm not
going to tell you
all the things
i should've done
but didn't

this is not a fairy tale
and i am not the princess
that you will sweep
off her feet

i used to smile
when you would text me
in the middle of the night
to tell me about your dreams

i used to laugh
when you called me
because you were too lazy
to type out your thoughts

but now
when your name comes up
on that little screen
i turn it off

because i would rather
hear from nobody at all
than hear from you

and i would rather not think about
the reasons why
you're not who i thought you were

these days it seems
that every time i sit
i want to run

and every time i get up
i just want to go back to bed

i lie in my bed at night
just itching to get out
with nowhere to go,

and i think of you
all of you

the people i hurt
the ones who hurt me

and no matter how much i cry
the tears won't stop
and no matter how many
lights are on
it's still
pitch
black

my fingers itch and quiver
with all the thoughts
i have yet to process into words

my throat burns
with all the happenings
i have yet to turn into stories

my head aches and throbs
from thinking in circles
trying to think
of anything to write about
anything
but you.

i can't go to bed
without hearing those words
pour into my ears
like a bittersweet goodnight

i walk around
with that song in my head
that puts to words
the things that i'm feeling

i scribble your name
in all of my notebooks
like a schoolgirl's crush

you are the air
swirling around my lungs
but i'm just another penny
in the dollars you make
singing
to girls like me

one year ago today
i was seven hundred and eighty miles away
from where i stand now

one year ago tomorrow
your bus pulled in
and we hugged for the first time

one year ago next week
we rode a bus for four hours
just to spend three more days together

but eight months ago
you broke not my heart
but my soul
and one week later
hadn't noticed i was gone

this morning
my friend told me
that i was crying in my sleep

"that's crazy"
i said
"i don't remember dreaming"

but inside i knew
that of course it was true
because all last night
i dreamt of you

i just want you to hold me in your arms all the time
and i want to hold your hand until it hurts
because with you i’m safer than i’ve ever been
and the way my head fits on your shoulder
and your hand wraps around mine
makes me feel almost whole again.

i sang on friday night.
and i was terrified.
and i was sad.

so i taped your picture in my notebook.
and i looked at it when i forgot the words.
and i pretended you were there.

it's been so long since i've seen your face.
and i can't remember the sound of your voice.
and i don't even dream of you anymore.

but still, i sang on friday night.
and it was wonderful.
and it was all for you.

you're the feeling
of finally closing your eyes
after a long day

you're the feeling
of coming home
on Christmas Day

you're the feeling
of waking up
in the arms of someone else

you're a feeling
that i'll never have
because i'm a feeling
you've never liked

i like you
and your big, dumb smile
and your goofy jokes

i like you
and the way you speak French
in the middle of our conversations
or root against
my favorite football team
just to make me mad

i like you
and that sweatshirt you always wear,
the purple one,
with the logo of the college i grew up near

i like you
and the way your cheeks turn red
every time i talk to you
or someone talks about me

i like you
and that big, dumb smile
on that big, dumb face
when you tell those goofy jokes
because you like me
and my little, quiet voice
with my little, quiet eyes
looking back up at you
telling you to kiss me