I used to be your morning.
asking the day its first question.
You always slept on the left side of the bed.
My right, now.
My right has never felt more wrong.
Your eyes were always soft at sunrise.
Lids lifting like lungs and falling
You loved the smell of coffee
and the taste of special k.
Though I never understood why.
You never watched the news
because it was always
never worthy of your worry
so early in the morning.
I used to be your afternoons.
Your smile always felt like the summer,
when I met you.
You wore a white dress
and a warning label.
I wore heart stained sleeves
and a nervous smile.
I'm glad I didn't listen.
Most of the time.
You lived like flowers.
Toes planted in the grass,
catching rain like a break,
light like your breath.
Impossible to keep
but never the less,
you were beautiful.
Beautiful in the way you took naps,
in the way you brushed your hair
while complaining it was too straight.
Beautiful in the way you would sway
To any music that I'd play,
I couldn't say it then but it's too late now
And in the way you'd get excited
when I would pick you up
but somehow, I let you down.
And I'm sorry.
Your eyes rivaled every sunset,
But the light always leaves with a promise,
you left with a suitcase.
I used to be your nighttime.
I sleep in the same spot that you left me in.
But wake up in the middle.
one arm outstretched,
hand hiding beneath your pillow.
My fingers are foolish,
still thinking they'll find you.
Like myself when in sleep.
How do you tell your memories to close their eyes
when you dream?
when the only world I am aware of
is the one that I've been keeping,
saving, holding, tending to
my mind is a garden,
growing dreams, still, for you.
I suppose one day,
I'll run out of seeds.
The soil will spoil,
I'll be knee deep in weeds.
But until then
every bud in my brain blooms in bed,
vines and fields of flowers
fill every inch of my head.
So long as I keep my eyes closed,
room too dark to invite the dawn
that hits the fields like winter.
I used to be yours.
I don't know what you dream of now,
who slows you down when the world spins
faster than your stillness can stand,
how many times a day you find your hand
wandering to where I've been.
Though I tried hard not to say it,
I know that you knew.
I didn't mind how you felt,
but I always
All I have now are used to be's
to keep these,
my own hands,
That happiness finds you happy
and freedom finds me free.
But until they arrive
I'll know nothing of you
And one thing of me,
we used to be,
I used to be.