i have burned bridges
and put out their fires with
bare hands, tried to make
something of the ashes
because i always thought
moving forward was the
best way to deal until
i wasn't able to go back

I remember sitting in some basement at 10:58 on a random summer night
I remember how the movie we watched wasn't very scary
I remember we both pretended it was so we had an excuse to cuddle together
I remember long nights dreaming about you and I together
I remember how seconds felt like hours staring into your eyes
I remember standing together at one in the morning
I remember how the car broke down, and we were both oh so chilly
I remember the feel of your breath on my neck as we stood together
I remember explaining the next day how we were just friends
I remember a time before all I could think was I love you
I remember being scared you wouldn't feel the same way
I remember waking up next to you
I remember wishing we were old enough to wake up together every day
I remember long looks, quick smiles, bad jokes, sweaty hands
I remember shared drinks, borrowed clothes, tight hugs, your laugh
I forget when it was exactly that I fell in love with you
But I know that ever since, nothing was the same

god i swear when
i got home today
i saw you standing
in the entryway of
my building (in
the spot where the
rain dripped on
your head on all
those soggy nights
this past spring)
but i blinked and
you were gone.

stars are tiny holes
in Heaven's carpet
and they say that
humans are made
from the dust
that falls
through them
and can't get back home.

One of these days, he's going to write you a song.

One of these days, he'll be sitting in a pub with the lights husky and his brain muffled, and he'll run his fingers over the battered piano's keys. They'll be slightly sticky - his won't be the only drunk hands that have caressed them.

He'll tentatively start to work at them, a melody will form as if by accident. It'll be nothing spectacular. It won't be awe inspiring. It won't be destructive. It'll be quiet. It'll be gentle. It will haunt you for nights on end. It will remind you of something you've heard before. It will be just like his love for you.

He'll forget about it by the end of the evening. He'll drink himself into oblivion because if he sees you in his mind one more time - your head thrown back, blonde hair around your shoulders, eyes so light and alive, he'll go mad. He wonders if he's mad already. He certainly feels it most days.

In the morning, he'll find himself at the piano again. This will be a different piano. This piano will be a work of art in itself, he'll wonder if he deserves to use it. He does, he does, he does.

He'll flex his fingers, his eyes will go to your bracelet around his wrist. And he'll play. His fingers remember what his mind doesn't.
It might be a long piece, he won't ever be sure if it's finished. He'll call it "In Memoriam" publicly. To himself, he'll title it "An Apology in Motion"

He'll wonder if you'd have liked it, if you had ever heard it.

You would have. You loved everything that he created. You would have told him this, one day.