his eyes were so bright it burned. it burned to look at him and i remember he had burn marks on his fingertips from catching too many stars. i always wanted to know what it felt like to touch his burning skin, no matter how many times i was warned about the fire inside of him that was never extinguished. the stars could have burned out years ago, but we still notice them and that's kind of like him, how his eyes have a glimpse of emptiness in them and i bet that he feels dead inside, but i'd give anything to keep looking at him.

i still remember the way your lips would always curl up in a smile and i hate to admit that it still makes me smile and i keep thinking about the day you'll come back to me like it's guaranteed like it's written in the script but when it comes to love nobody ever keeps their promises. the other day i told someone that i was never in love with you. that you were nothing but a faint memory, a blur hidden in my past but my voice trembled when i said it just like it always does when i tell a lie. i remember when you said that i would move on faster than you could ever try to and trust me i have tried my ******* hardest to love anyone else but it has been ten months and every time i hear your name i feel my breath catch in my throat and my vision becomes blurry and i ******* miss you. i have been trying to distract myself from you i have been pouring my heart out to people who could not care less about me i keep wishing someone else would break my heart but that would require me to still have one.

i still haven't figured out the color of his eyes. when i look into them, i swear i'm staring directly at the sun because they are blinding but just warm enough to make me stay and i can't look away. his lips taste like mint and raspberries and when he smiles at me i don't know to stop my hands from trembling. he says my name so softly i stop breathing but i almost catch my breath long enough to ask him to say it again and again until it's all i can hear. i want to fall asleep to his laughter. i wouldn't compare him to anyone from my past because he is a place i have never been to and he is so intriguing i want to explore his entire being. i want to know what it feels like to have his calloused hands on me and to feel his lips pressed against my collarbones and i want to listen to him talk about his day. i want to see him get worked up when he is trying to say all of the things that he hates about himself and i want to tell him how wrong he is but i don't love him. i don't love him. i don't love him but i want to.

When he kisses me, I wonder what it's like to kiss you and when he holds my hand I can't help but wonder what it would be like to have your hand intertwined with mine and I know that I shouldn't be thinking about you. Not when I'm with someone else but his eyes don't shine as bright as yours do, his lips aren't stained bright pink and he doesn't say my name the way you used to. I feel guilty for not feeling guilty about the fact that I try to fill the empty hole in my chest with other men simply because you're so far away I can't even reach for your hand. I'm sick of writing poems about boys who I could not care less about because it won't help me get rid of you. You're halfway across the globe falling in love with a different girl every night and I bet you no longer think of me, but I sure as hell think of you. It doesn't matter if I am reading or writing or planting kisses all over someone else's neck. You are always on my mind.

When he asks you to write about him, remind him that you are not that kind of poet. When he asks you to describe his eyes, stop yourself from telling him how bright they are and how they remind you of the stars you stare at in the late night. Do not tell him they are brighter than any of those stars and while they may not light up the whole sky, they sure as hell light up your heart. Instead, smile and tell him that they are just blue – nothing is very special about them. He will ask you why your hands and lips tremble when you're with him, but you mustn't explain how fast your heart beats when he looks at you, or how sometimes you swear your lungs fill up with smoke when you hear him laugh soundly because of something you said. You shouldn't write about him, because you're not the kind of girl that writes about someone who could be here one day, and easily gone the next.