(September 19, 2015 // 2:56 A.M.)

Years, and many of them, can run right passed us, and I’d still feel my childhood home knocking at my chest when I see you.

I’ll be 16, melting, and wondering why your lips look darker as your cheeks become more red.

You’ll always be familiar, your hands will always be cold during the summer, and your skin will always be the first canvas I painted with my whispers.

(November 17, 2014 // 11:24 P.M.)

I haven't worn my perfume in awhile, and as I sprayed it along the lines of my blouse today, I felt the memories of you linger within each drop.

As the aroma filled my lungs, as did the harsh coldness that comes with the thought of you.

I couldn't breathe, yet the pain that crushed my chest came so effortlessly, and it hasn't left quite yet.

This scent doesn't just carry a floral character, it carries you; it holds the mornings you'd enjoy it as it filled your front seat, the nights you let it fill your lungs after dropping me off, and the evenings of having to walk passed it during your shift at work, having to remember that the thick air of my perfume is all you have left of me.

(October 12, 2016 // 2:48 PM)

We were so young.

And we were so fragile.

We knew we were too young, and because of it, too fragile.

But we were never gentle.

We were never gentle.

(March 25, 2016 // 8:57 PM)

He's the kind of boy who will watch orange skies. He likes feeling burned while he admires them, he wants every sky to bleed colors that feel like fire on his ivory skin. He's the kind of boy who loves you most when you're highlighted underneath orange clouds, and once he sees you there, he'll picture you underneath them for the rest of his life.

He's the kind of boy who only wears glasses when he's home. He preaches about how he doesn't give a **** who sees him as the real him, yet he'll only be who he was born to be when the orange drains out. He's the kind of boy who looks at stars through black lenses as he wishes for more time, bravery, and soul; he's the kind of boy who has too much soul within himself, yet he swears he runs on nothing.

He's the kind of boy who protects you with words that cut at skin until it bleeds. He's the kind of boy who only ever shouts when he needs your heart to hear his heart loud and clear. He's the kind of boy to keep you safe with words that sizzle at your neck, leaving you red with his name engraved upon the spaces just above your collarbones.

He's the kind of boy who feels lonely. He's the kind of boy who chose electric blue to be his favorite color for a reason. He's the kind of boy who leaves you electrified, the kind of boy who makes sure you can feel the lightning of his being on every inch of skin, even the spaces he hasn't seen or touched yet. He's the kind of boy who cries in blue, the kind of boy who sees the world in shades of winter, though he favors heat, he knows the damaged parts of him feel cool and overpower the bits that want to feel warm.

He's the kind of boy who loved me in ways that I hated. He's the kind of boy who made me need him, and I needed him so much that he couldn't take it. He's the kind of boy who stopped loving me once we got too close, he's the kind of boy who ran away in fear.
He's the boy who will deeply attach himself to your insides, and then leave as soon as he makes a home for himself within your mind.

He's the kind of boy I loved until I forgot my own name. He was the sea, mysterious and hard to control. He was the blood that dripped from my lips as I bit them with every tooth when he showed me what kind of boy he can be when he forgets how to love.

He's the kind of boy who remains in scars. He's on my body forever, in places that nobody sees, on a skin that I am trying to crawl out of.

He's the kind of boy who doesn't realize he left me ruined, though. He's a boy who lives in constant halos, a boy who only sprouts the devil's horns when he's wired, so he doesn't remember how harshly he treated you the next morning.

He's the kind of boy my Dad warned me about. He's the boy who treated my Dad with respect up to the moon, yet my Dad could smell the devil's spirit on him like cologne.

He's the kind of boy I couldn't fight, the kind of boy I couldn't rip off without ripping off parts of me.

He's the kind of boy I should have closed my eyes for, the kind of boy I should have ran away from first.

Because of him, I am now the kind of girl who lives in a body that feels more like his. I'm the kind of girl who lets him come back when he feels lonely again, when I miss being electric and blue; I'm the kind of girl who waits for the kind of boy who will never love me right, or at all.

Because of him, I'm a girl who sees him on my favorite clothes. I'm a girl who can't look at street signs without seeing names on poles that marked promises we made in his car. I'm a girl who smells his devil's spirit cologne when I sleep upon my black sheets.

Because of him, I'm a girl who once admired orange skies because they were art in the air, but now I'm a girl who despises them because I know he'll always love them more than me.