two people,
so very broken
that they had to
borrow and share
each other's
pieces to
finally feel
whole

Its weird
that I still think
about you
   and
it makes me
feel weak.
Its worse
because
I find myself
missing the
   oddest things.
Like
   your mom
   your shirts
   how you held my hand
   the curve of your nose
and
    the way you like to run.
Its things like these,
the obscure
annoying things,
that keep me
     missing you.

i had a dream
that he loved me,
       and that's how i knew
i was dreaming.

he tastes of
fresh coffee and old memories
mixed together with
swallowed sentiments
that neither of us
is brave enough
to say.

i have a lover
      tender and innocent,
who tucks in his shirt
and brushes my arm
        when he walks by.
he is passionate and giving,
listens to classical music
and caresses my cheek
         when he kisses me.
i think i love him so
because of these things
          and also because
*he is the opposite of me

he felt slight in my arms,
like trying to hold
a ray of light
from the sun tattoo
on his wrist.
and
when he kissed me
i tasted his sadness
and his demons,
drinking them in myself
with the hope that
he would be able
to burn a little brighter,
like the sun tattoo
on his wrist.

i would
live
or
die
with a
single
word from him,
but i
have to
act like
i can
live happily
without a
single
word from him

its been long enough
that the memories
are starting to fade
from the glare
of reality.
but the one moment
i still feel
as vividly now
as i did then
is when he stared into
my deepest parts and whispered
this? this right here? its real.

the only thing i feel
more vividly than that
is the hurt from realizing
**it wasn't true

we play house.
he makes us coffee
and
i wear his shirts.

we play house.
he drinks his feelings
and
i stare at the ceiling while he sleeps.

we play house*.

I dreamt that you
   were laying beside me
   but instead of ribs
   there were constellations
   and half mumbled wishes
holding you together.
You took my hand and
    held it to your chest
    telling me to take a
  fallen star for myself,
to remind me of you.
When I couldn't grasp one
    I looked at you
   desperately,
    and you laid back with
    your blue eyes closed
And told me to *"keep reaching"

I wrote about him
over a year ago.
He was one of my
     most inspirational muses
that became one of my
     softest kisses
     purest loves
     sweetest memories.
Which makes it even more painful
to realize that he also became
one of my
        biggest heartbreaks.

The moment I think back on
the most
isn't when
                   we learned to samba
                we saw each other naked
              our lips met for the first time
or even when we said I love you.
Its our last night together,
the night we
            played cards with your family
       slept in your twin bed
    couldn't work the DVD player
and took our first bedroom picture.
It was the night when
    I woke up and cried quietly
until you felt my tears on your skin
    You wrapped me up and rocked me back to sleep
    You whispered I'm here over and over again.
Don't you remember, love?
*It was the night before you left (me).

i breathed him in
like a drag off of
one of his cigarettes,
long
slow and
cool.
i held him in
before exhaling
and promised
this time would be
my last.

he slept in a world
slightly higher
              truer
              livelier than mine,
a world that held him tighter
and loved him sharper
than i could have
with my earthen arms.
but i felt him come back to me
when the weariness of my bones
asked for a glimmer
                     moment
                     taste
of eternity from his lips
and he gave it to me

he slept facing his dreams,
lost in a world that didn't feel
the kisses i gently placed along his spine
or hear the "my darling, i love you" that i breathed
into his skin.
he slept facing his dreams,
and i laid against him,
facing mine.