Whiskey to warm,
Menthol cigarettes to cool.
I don't ever want to leave my bed.
We are killing ourselves slowly.
We are already broken.

I am feeling so trapped inside my head.

How is it, that I am just that easy to read?
It took everything I had not to burst into tears when you tilted your head down, looked me in the eyes, and asked me if everything was truly alright.
It wasn't.
I am going to be so lost when you leave again...
I am scared I can't bear it, what will ground me when nobody will reach into the depths of my mind and pull me out?
I keep wondering just what it is the people around me see in me.
I can't tell if I am being admired, or pitied.
I wonder, do people see so easily through this shell of thick glasses and tootsie pops like you do?
Do they see my weakness and uncertainty?
Can they feel the strength and knowledge I have gathered over the years? Can they know my entire life in one glance, void of any judgment or prejudice
like you can?
Or am I just as much of a mystery as I wish I was?
Is it that I find solace in the solitude of my own mind?
No, I will not let all this hope I have worked so hard for go to **** in one measly night.
I can't.
It really, doesn't matter.
I am fine.
I'm just tired.

Really, I am alright.

It's the thunder and lightning,
without the rain.
Striking hard, fast, loud,
I am soaked in anticipation, fear, loneliness,
everything but rain.
I am impatiently awaiting the water to drench me,
wash away the ghosts of lovers I've pushed away.
They are screaming at me,
guilt grows like weeds,
and I am in mighty need of a fresh start.
So where the **** is the rain?
Tell me,
what will wash away this pain?

I feel so empty, so numb.

I look into your eyes and feel nothing,
nothing but fear.
Fear for how bad it will hurt.
Hurt like your first scraped knee.
Kneecaps quivering like leaves.
Leaves that change color seasonally.
Seasons that change around me.
Me?
Unafflicted.
Me?
Empty.

Are you sought after, my dear?
Are you one to catch the eye of all those around you?
You're mysterious, yet vulnerable.
You are intimate, yet appropriately distant.
You're the perfect mate,
A catch worth catching.

Enthralling as you may be,
I'm left wondering...

Just when will it be my time to be the catch,
instead of the lonesome fisherman.

I'm slipping,
gripping for dear life,
what it is I hold so close.
I am almost
almost nothing,
almost something,
someone
somewhat stuck in your back molars.
I beg to be swallowed,
I've been chewed up enough.
It has come time to release this grip,
this grip that's been all I've known for seemingly millenniums.

I've been losing sleep
this past week or so
despite the fact I could never blame him
for the bags under my eyes
sluggish demeanor
I'd rather be up
sleepless
in my own home
despite the floorboards' creak
in a tiny apartment
with room mate silent
in peaceful slumber
I'd much rather not disturb
all noises heard
with every step
I take to the door
to inhale savory smoke
I'd rather move quietly
in my own home
because at least the cold steel of the fire escape
is soothing in some way
And although he's miles away from
the reasons I struggle to lay my head down
I'd rather be restless on my own
I'd rather be restless alone

Out of my league, I thought,
so desperately I would seek one's eye.
The steps I took to better myself and find myself "worthy" of the attention those like you posses
were immeasurable.
I've come a long way, seeing now that those steps taken were truly for myself.
Seems almost selfish.
Getting to know those around me who seemed
out of my league,
was humbling and uplifting.
I am beginning to see that the entire concept of being
out of someone's league
is utter *******.
We're all just people, seeking the approval of others.
Connecting with somebody isn't about rank, it is about mindset,
sympathy,
empathy,
and open minds.
Upon learning these things, the loneliness I once new was obliterated.
Yet,
an entirely new loneliness began to form.
A loneliness that seems
more
distant,
unsolvable,
and perpetual.
A monotonous loneliness, that everyone seems to carry a piece of.

Images of pills peaking out amidst *****
lying perfectly in a porcelain nest
shining like stars in a still night sky
are flashing before my eyelids tonight.
Memories
I can't shake.
Putting all that I've got into change,
forgiveness,
redemption.
So just how many more mornings
of coffee, cigarettes, and the daily newspaper
how many more mornings will it take
for me to stop imagining my face amongst others
in the obituaries?

Today was not a good day.
Nothing particularly awful happened,
Nobody was particularly upset,
But today was not a good day.
I wasn’t too hungry, or too tired, or too hot.
But today was just not a good day.
I ate meals, I smoked cigarettes, I drank coffee,
and I do not understand why today was not a good day.
The people around me were happy, and supportive, and very kind,
My atmosphere was overall congenial,
Yet today was still not a good day.

My forsaken heart yearns greatly for the answers to these questions I have in plentiful quantities. My castaway soul yearns for all the solutions. My distraught mind longs for the certainty to fix my conundrums, so tomorrow can be a good ******* day and not blend into this blur of unjustifiably somber days, I feel as though I have been living for so long.

When I get in these moods
I find so much beauty in decay
there is romance round every corner
in boarded up windows
in smoke rising from burning buildings
in flickering florescent light bulbs of gas station bathrooms

when will I realize, my life is not a ******* film,
a gathering of beautiful moments
be they of joy
or that of decay
no, it contains all bits of time
dark and sorrowful
thrilling and story worthy
tedious and boring
but more often than not, lacking beauty of any sort

but it is so very much like me
to focus exclusively on small details
rather than acknowledge the levity of the entire situation
how it weighs on myself
how it weighs on others

because a family once lived behind those boarded up windows,
before being served an eviction notice
and someone's grandmother's photos were lost in that fire
and the needle in the trash of that bathroom is someone's last and only reprieve from this life

East, they said,
and east we went.
Onward, upward,
to what they called "The Ruins" at the mouth of Emigration Canyon
A failed building project that left nothing but a few giant curved brick walls.
We parked our vehicles and trekked up to the top of the highest wall.
Cracked open a few brews, sparked a few smokes and gazed.
We gazed out upon the twinkling lights of the Salt Lake valley.
Our view extending to every point of every mountain top creating a giant bowl of glimmering city soup.
I took a sip of my beer, a drag of a Lucky Strike,
and leaned back, my focus slowly fading from the valley, and directing itself upward to the vast sky, obstructed only by a few purple clouds.
The stars were bright and visible that night.
Maybe it was the cigarette, but in that moment I felt remarkably lucky.
The small talk, and jokes made among friends,
The beauty of everything now in sight,
and knowing how it was once nothing.
The thought of every light we could see from the valley containing people, currently living their lives,
We pondered,
How many people are crying?
How many laughing?
How many dying?
How many being born?
Reborn?
Our lives are strikingly meaningless,
And how beautiful is that?
The coyotes howling in the distance reminded us that the land was not ours to keep,
only ours to visit.
We had taken in all we could, for the time being, of an illimitable world.
We ventured downward, west,
and back to our lives,
insignificant as all the rest,
and tried to hold on the the feeling of being above it all.
Being
Boundless

I am a mere spectator of the wisdom and debauchery of the world and lives around me.
Lost in speculation, my field notes are scattered and undated.
My prerogative and destination remain unknown,
I remain lost in the research.
I am still searching for some sort of certainty
in surroundings and a mindset so fickle.

I need something to set fire to my inhibitions
so that I may run away again
void of that guilt of all I leave behind.
How can I cut ties
whist knots are still so tangled?
How can I burn all bridges without the fire consuming me?
**** it,
let's torch it,
burn it all to the ground.

You left me thinking that these are the moments we see in a flash immediately prior to exhaling our last breath.

To anyone who has ever been lonely:
We are all the same.
Tell me,
Why are we unable to manipulate this to our advantage?

A fluffy skunk scurried across my path
Startled me greatly
if he could
he would have laughed
at the misfortune of the dog owners
who's K9s startled him
to the extent he startled me
enough to make him spray
all over
his putrid stink
coating the pups
who now so badly stunk
what a maniacal skunk
who seemed as though he had not a care in the world

Polishing off the bottle of wine I intended to ****** you with,
alone.
One glass in, and you ceased your drinking, our romance, and my foul intentions.
I want so badly to be broken by this, be angry, be sad, be hopeless.
Instead I'm thinking about how admirable your honesty is, how I wish more people had that courage.
I'm left here wishing I was lying when I said I was just that detached.

There is a labor dispute protest
outside of the hospital I was born in and
I can't help thinking
Did this ****** up world formulate this ****** up mind?
Or did I  simply come into this world corrupt
with the surroundings to match?

I've been cripplingly depressed these last few months and
it is beginning to take it's toll on my body,
I'm so sick of regulars at my workplace commenting
on how thin I've become.
A friend hugged me,
felt my protruding rib cage and asked if I was okay.
I said, define okay, because the word has lost it's meaning
over the repetition of the phrase in my mind,
i'm okay, i'm okay, i'm okay.

These lows,
so easily justifiable
when I'm just drunk, and sad.
But it's so much harder
when i'm sober and my world's still falling apart.

I am soberish now and
realizing the extent to which I am not over so many things.
I am not over the rejection of the boy I still so badly desire,
and having to see him so happy with his old lover.
I am not over how drained I feel from 50+ hour work weeks.
I am not over the discomfort of the place I call home.
I am not over the past lovers who despise me.

Then there is you,
the former lover I still lust for,
I'm so very much not over you,
yet I know things couldn't possibly ever work out.
I am ******* sick to death of dreaming of you every god ****** night,
waking only to feel utterly demolished inside.
It's been months, why won't you leave my mind?

I'm on the brink of insanity and
I don't even know where to begin
to find the path to recovery.

As we lie together naked
smoking cigarettes in bed
running fingers up the curves of my body
he said
"I wish I had more hands"
And now for the first time
to somebody
I am a person
worth loving
not a role
worth filling

Smile darling, it'll all be over soon.
You will move away, start over.
You will find a lover, to keep you warm at night.
You will fill the gap with glamorous people,
meaningless possessions.
Smile darling, you can seal your sorrow in mason jars.
Keep it safe, neatly tucked in the dark corners of your grandmother's storage room.
You can leave it behind whilst you travel.
Soon enough you'll be able
to breath.
No longer will it fester, eat at you in dark hours.
No longer will you feel everything around at high volumes and slow paces.
Smile darling, because you are living to die,
no longer are you dying to live.

High highs,
and low lows.
I wouldn't have it any other way,
I dare say, I have never felt more alive.
Casual Thursday identity crises that are anything but casual,
a relentless battle with self.
Regardless, it's time to saddle up.
Get out of your car,
relinquish the cigarette smoke and anguish,
we've all got **** to do,
and so we abide.
I am biding my time to unbind my euphoria.
A moment so clear and distinct,
where it's 2 am, the coffee house is closing,
and we've still so much to say.
I am well on my way,
despite the massive lack of sleep,
coffee and cigarettes to eat,
and it's better than a five course meal.
Optimism and bliss, for an instant,
that feels perhaps, in perpetuity.
Intermittence of all that was ever felt,
in greater doses,
to feed an addiction
of high highs,
and low lows.

Dry skin,
like wine soaked paper evaporated.
Festering, tightly wound minds.
Failed attempts at human interaction,
we coexist like cars
cooperating without concern
yet never do we touch.
Coming to terms with my cold-hearted,
cynical
insensitive ways.
I am this way,
and I don't matter.

You hit me hard, in the gentlest of ways.
Your vibe was warm, and begged me to stay.
I don't know how I drifted so far away,
Your embrace kept calling, still my mind lead me astray.

Infatuation had become the only type of love I knew.
I never thought I could leave such an impact on someone like you.

Wrapped up in my own emotions, I never even thought to ask you how you felt.
...And when I finally did, your response took me aback.
I was shocked, to say the least, to find out the extent to which you were changed by my presence in your life.
I am honored,
and humbled,
and realizing now my ability to impact those around me, the same way they've so effortlessly impacted me.

"I am really glad I met you" he said to me, completely unaware of how lost I might have been if I had never met him.

My upper lip is still tingling from your upper lip's stubble,
and I am feeling nostalgic tonight.
Don't tell me to take care of myself,
I'm not joking when I say I'm looking for ways to
slowly force my body to shut down for good.
This place is a ghost town at this golden hour of 3 am.
I'm killing myself slowly.
I was brought up broken.
Skipping school, long bus rides going nowhere,
flashbacks like picture shows of a young, hopeless hooligan.
When I look in the mirror, I still see that child,
and she haunts me.
I've gotten by, by romanticizing the pain.
Finding beauty in the hard times
bad, ugly, sorrow dripping
hard drugs in bathtubs
like a movie scene before the upswing
and the happily ever after.
Though this life's been a cinematographic goldmine,
I just don't see the conclusion as being so bright.
Forever waiting on that upswing,
and there's simply no happily ever after in sight.
Who knew we'd still survive after so many years of
persistently seeking death ?
I never thought I'd end up here today.
So much has occurred I could've never predicted.
I never thought I'd seek the things I've sought,
There is so much of me that's still very much the same.
I never thought I'd carry this apathy so close all these years...
Who am I to plead remembrance,
when I've consistently chosen the path of least resistance ?
I am nothing.
Perhaps someday I'll fertilize the soil beneath your feet,
in this moment, that's where my aspirations lie.
In this moment, my concerns lie for those who's window lies across from my parking spot where my headlights shine bright as I arrive home at 3 am rather than for my car's broken mirrors or my expired license plate numbers.
Moved out to the suburbs sometime late August,
and in this moment, I'd be lying if I said I didn't often appreciate those long solo drives home in the early hours of the morning.
A tobacco smoke filled vehicle is my go-to place for self reflection.

"You get this smile," he says, "one that looks like you may just ****** everyone and enjoy every moment of it, but it's cute and calming at the same time."

He says, he likes the way I wear angst, and awkward.
He displays emotion like no one I've ever known.
Lying with him is somber,
and beautiful.
Lying with him is comfortable, is home.

Every fiber of my being is screaming
Push him away

Reciprocation of his investment frightens me like needles in my spine,
I am fine
on my own.

What scares me is not being let down.
But, I could not bear to let him down
again.

Lonely was once only caring for someone, and them not caring back.
But what is to be said about having someone care for you, and being incapable of caring back?

Numb, is a special breed of pain.
But I am not giving up this time.

High risk, high reward.
Just like the stock market.
You don't always get back what you put in.

I cannot be touched through your computer or cellphone screen.
Because, I am more than a profile. I am more than a few lists of music, movies, and books I like. I am more than a few cell phone captured photographs shared with “friends” most of whom we don’t even speak with. My love life is more than a relationship status. My taste is more complex than a list or two.  Our beauty cannot simply be captured and put on the internet. But alas, neither can most of our flaws. I cannot read emotion from words on the screen of a cellphone, nor can I express it to it's fullest extent. It is not real. I am a gal who must be experienced first-hand with smell, hearing, and most importantly touch. I am all I am, in person; nothing more, nothing less. Take it or leave it.

There is a woman, trapped,
Secluded in a dark room,
no windows,
the only door is barricaded
locked tight with bolts and chains and nails and things of the like.
She is sitting
curled up
eyes shut
with her hands over her ears
pretending
hoping to not exist.
She is brilliant
but despondent
she is beautiful
however hopeless
intellect and adroitness trickle softly from every pore.
She resides within the confides of my mind
and every fiber of my being is pushing
with everything I've got
to force her out.
To share her with the world.
To tell her story
so that I may grow old
knowing that I
have been vulnerable.
That I have proven my humanity
my capability to feel and be felt.
Come out now, darling
No, it will never ******* be safe
but I think it may just be worth it.
Because I am running out of ways to tell people that
I am not okay, but that is somehow okay.

Foggy, windy, madness,
beauty city.
Anything, and everything but calm,
yet I feel so at ease,
and I'm pleased to announce
that today I felt
happy.

As the fog rolled over the trees, buildings, and all that lay between
so very
effortlessly
and the ferocious wind allow not a thing to be still.
The moisture penetrates my bones,
seeping deep in my pores,
refreshing as anything could be.
The sun setting, a sight to see,
walking home with groceries in hand.
How could such moments not consume me?

Now, give me a moment to recollect
the depths of my perception,
what I'd experienced prior to my momentary consumption.
The wind kicked up,
my skirt blew.
I had flashed a silver fox,
he blushed,
as did I.
Much too soon for goodbyes.
We both continued with our lives.

Onward,
into the grocery store,
the cashier asked me from where do I hail.
Just how is it that easy to tell I'm not from these parts?
I never thought myself to carry tourist vibes.
I don't think that's quite it,
I think it to be this look I possess
of wanderlust and pride.
Perhaps my excitement and wonder,
upon observation of my surroundings,
it's all so vibrant,
so alive.
I don't ever want to lose it,
however long I reside here,
I wish to always see it this way.

However long I stay.
May I always feel this way.

I want to write
like music makes me feel.
So strong, so profound,
meaningful and free.
I wish to experience life
like a cinematographic masterpiece.
Every detail precariously perfected.
Every color, every scene, flawless.
I want to view the world
like a surrealist's painting.
Abstract, and pleasing,
Intriguing,
knowing there's more than meets the eye.

Sitting at the kitchen table with my father
discussing the importance of the questions
I must ask a dying man.
He says
the answers will die with him, you know.
The answers will die soon, too.
He says,
I am the only one he'd release them to,
the only one capable of fishing out
all those repressed memories
of an only brother
who took his own life decades back.
He strains to put emphasis on a diminishing time frame
choking back tears
for the inevitable loss of his
father in law
the father he chose
whilst I'm flashing back to twenty minutes prior,
discussing his detachment from his own father by blood.
I am sitting at the kitchen table with my father
It's 1 am,
and we are now both choking back tears
discussing the questions I will ask a dying man.

I am sitting here broken,
angry,
and hurt.
Your words replaying in my head over,
and over,
again.
"I just don't care anymore."
And every statement that escapes your mouth is so far beyond me,
I cannot even begin to grasp
just where it is you are coming from.
I am here thinking back to every moment we ever shared,
where I lied naked in your bed,
drenched in vulnerability,
and tried with all I had to express to you the extent to which I cared.
How someone can so easily blatantly disregard every instance of such intimacy I cannot comprehend.
And for some reason, I still wish you nothing but happiness and success,
in all your life's endeavors,
especially romantically.

My vulnerability comes as that of water from a faucet.
I cannot deny the devastating droughts I've put companions through,
nor can I deny the massive floods.
There is no certainty,
no measure,
no average
of how much of myself I may give.
The drought undoubtedly got to you, because
you took a hammer to my clogged up,
****** up
faucet,
and pounded relentlessly seeking everything right then and there.
I don't see how one could have anticipated anything less than the broken,
spewing mess you created.
Now all that's past, without a moment of regret,
but darling, the damage still lingers.
I'm sitting here broken, a leaky faucet,
that can turn neither fully on or off,
waiting,
ever so impatiently,
for some kind plummer to appear with a wrench.

Now, don't be discouraged, as for now I am okay.
I've found a fellow to appreciate this mess for exactly what it is,
I've been given time,
affection,
void of obligation.
A fellow who cherishes every drop of vulnerability,
every drip,
drop
.
drip
.
drop
.
.

Uninspired,
I lie a vacant, lonesome, callous shell.
When the wind hits, I am crumbled,
crushed,
dust in the breeze.
I am nothing.
I've left no trace,
no mark,
no meaning
in this world,
although still cursed with the audacity to plead remembrance.

I wonder helplessly for the fate of lives I've abandoned
for those that once surrounded me
as well as that of my own
like running into an old friend
poking relentlessly
attempting desperately
to paint a picture of
their everyday life
as it stands today
unachievable through means of small talk
I often wonder for the lives my old lovers lead
today
I am coming to terms with the fact that
it is not my place
to care for them any longer
I often wonder where I'd be today
had I chosen to stay
awhile longer
I often wonder
just what it was
about this particular one
that made falling in love
seem worth it
and just how have I managed
to stay this long ?

You were my very first memory, as far back as it goes.
Playing in the grass of the backyard, the day we brought you home.
Through the years, you became such a constant source of love.
Our long walks kept me sane, helped me find much needed clarity, for years, and years.
16 years, you were on this earth, a long, loving life.
When I met you in the vet's office for one final goodbye,
You looked up at me through foggy cataract eyes and strained to wag  your tail.
I'll never forget that last look you gave me,
so loving,
so peaceful.
You were ready.

"Don't be dismayed by good-byes. A farewell is necessary before you can meet again. And meeting again, after moments or lifetimes, is certain for those who are friends."

Rest in peace Mocha dog.
I will always love you.

Do we truly inherently pursue companionship limited to one singular human?
Or has the idea simply been romanticized through generations,
allowing us to believe that from creation
we have a soul mate,
a sole mate.
I can't imagine it is my fate to be chained to one single human;
I seek growth extending much further than the arm span of a solitary being.
Nobody has all the answers,
nobody has everything.
Together, we are everything,
everyone is everything,
and everything is one.
Monogamy is dead.
The question that haunted me
ever so frequently has been resolved.
I have evolved,
No longer will I query,
who is the one?
I am the one.
We all are the one.
Everyone is
one.

Words, so ever fleeting.
As I lie here, romanticizing memories of all bonds ever formed between myself and another person,
I realize I rarely look anyone directly in the eyes.
Perhaps those moments when I allow myself to do so
make real the emotions that've been evoked.
Words, so ever fleeting,
only moments ago I had the perfect combination of them
to describe the exact same thing I once saw
in every past lover's eyes
that exact same thing
that broke me to pieces.
Now, tonight, in the dim light of 1 am
is a montage of every spark of emotion
that I've ever evoked in a person,
first of love,
second of sorrow.
Now I wonder if I'll ever look another person in the eyes,
or if this realization has concluded said montage for good.
Who am I to seek such refuge in another person
when I can't find such solace in myself?

Sparse is the lure of a bourgeois creature.
Give me a chance to show you,
I am
anything
but.

I cannot remember who used to call me Darbels.
A dorky nickname, that somehow I adored.
I can her the voice faintly in the back of my head,
but I can't seem to figure out who it belongs to.
An old teacher, perhaps.
A childhood friend's father?
A good friend I once had?
It's driving me mad.
I am losing my mind,
and all I want
is for someone
someone
to just call me Darbels
again.

Today it took me two hours
twelve markers
half a roll of paper towels
and seventeen redos
to fill a whiteboard at my place of work
Today I counted steps
in the sidewalk blocks as I walked
1
1, 2
1, 2
1
only having to backtrack and repeat
twice
Today I stood in the tiny wooden doorway
of my apartment's fire escape
for the entire duration of my cigarette
terrified to step foot on the steel grate
all for fear of the lightning in the distance
because after a brief ocular inspection
I was so certain
that there is no god ****** way this building
is up to code in that regard
Today I couldn't help but wonder
what ever has happened in my life
to once again trigger
these neurotic thought patterns
that plague me from time to time

Writing myself encouraging notes for the morning, knowing I'll need them to get through the day;
Is it crazy to talk to yourself in 3rd person through means of ink?
I've been finding myself more neurotic than usual.
Lists and notes help.
I swear it's not a self esteem issue,
I assure you of my confidence,
But I just cannot seem to figure out why it is I've sparked interest in so many intricate and spectacular people.
I've come upon so many outstanding friendships.
Sometimes, I'll admit, I forget to remember the vast support system I've found myself immersed in.
I have the ability to soar through the day, wearing a crooked smile, my personal notes in pockets, and friendship in my heart.
I must only remember not to forget.

We sat in silence while I stared off in to space,
and he stared at me
trying with all he had to get into my head
alas, to no avail.
A sadness so deep, it penetrates quivering bones.
So thick, he'd surely drown.
I was going to end things right then and there,
but instead
I ****** him.
Because I wanted nothing more than to feel close to him,
if only for a moment,
and that was the only way I knew how.
I was going to end things right then and there,
but I was afraid to wake up alone in the night.
I was going to end things,
but I couldn't stand the thought of losing him from my life.
I should have ended things,
because I feel so god ****** detached.
Because I feel so much *******
nothing.

I know what I'm worth.
From death to birth, I'll have possessed value for self,
I will not be placed on anyone's shelf to sit and gather dust.
I will not play games,
and I'm not ashamed,
I am not here to be framed and hung on a wall.
I am alive.
Possesed with thoughts like bullets,
My gun is aimed, cocked, and loaded,
Ready to fire at a pin-drop.
I won't be dropped,
like your cigarrette butts,
chucked,
left for the wind to decide my fate.
I am worth more
than a text message
I am more
than small talk
I will not be fooled
when you tell me I am the coolest person you know,
Because you don't know me anymore than the gentleman making your coffee.
Your words mean nothing,
when used in such numerous repetition.
And I'll be ****** if you actually petition
to listen to what I have to say.
I know what I am worth,
and it is strikingly more than what you presume.

I can't help the pieces of him
from falling to my feet with every step I take
I am a ******* wreck of a person
right now
perhaps always
my trivial problems overwhelm me
just as much as the guilt I feel for letting them
whilst watching the migration of the homeless
as winter approaches with bitter ferocity
whilst stepping over the blood soaked carpet
of a friends apartment
trying desperately not to stare too long at stitches
and I still cannot even bring myself to take down
the ******* picture
he gave me
still hanging on my bathroom wall

I want to tell our story like I thought it to be,
though I know it'd be more romantic than the reality.
There is still a part of me that wholeheartedly believes I'll never quite get over the idea of us as lovers.
Though I know that time heals all wounds, our hopeless infatuations will cease, and one day I will forget you.
I wanted to give you everything,
though I never could give you myself.
We both knowingly built our home atop a foundation bearing so many deep, deep cracks,
though we watched it crumble, together, hand in hand,
and it was so very peaceful.
You held me whilst I sobbed the moment I finally put an end to our romance.
And the kicker is, I had never felt so close to you as I did in that instance.
I loved you,
though I never told you.
And you loved me,
though we never had a chance.