When she found me, I was in pieces.
She was the only person keeping me together
But
She left me
Left me more broken than the last girl did.
My friends tell me to forget her…
But
She’s there standing everywhere I look.
She’s the only person I can hear at night.
She’s the only person I can feel on my skin.
She even loves to hide in the words as I type away.
But
I’ll never forget her.
I don’t want to forget her.
Cherishing the memories when she fixed me.

When I'm having a bad day I sometimes like to look up.

The thin rays of sun penetrating the cloudy sky remind me of her.

*"From now on this day could only get better."

There’s a girl that sits in the corner of my urban geography class.
I really want to talk to her because she seems like the type of girl that’d I like to know.
But I’m too afraid, afraid to even start a nice small dialogue between us.
She sits there every Tuesday morning looking down on a book of melancholy love.
She seems like the type of girl I can totally understand.
There seems to be a connection between us without anything to show for it.
She sits there every Thursday morning fiddling her red colored hair with her slender finger.
Nobody seems to notice this presence in the corner of the class except for me.
Her melancholy love and her red colored hair, seems to get me at every turn.
Just a simple “hello” would be enough to make a difference between us.
She seems like the type of girl where I can explore the urban geography with.
Climb the countless flights of stairs of the towering skyscrapers, wander the darkened alleys of the city and when we show the teacher what we found, we would get like a B- or something.
I’m too afraid to talk to her…
Why am I so afraid?
I leave her alone.
Maybe she was always s fantastical being in the figment of my imagination.
Her red colored hair and melancholy love
rest in the corner undisturbed.

I walk out there without the awareness of what is going around me.
I always take the road least treaded upon and I always find my way back home,
But this is…
But this is different from before.
She was always there to hold my hand when we trekked across the path of the unwillingly.
Holding hands with her gave me comfort when my eyes were felled upon with the nightened sky.
But this time she was gone.
Now I tread on this path of regret.
When she was on the path, the calmness of my hand was not enough to guide her.
She went forth with her eyes blinded by my mistakes.
The wolves crept behind her, taking advantage of her unawareness.
The bite that left a scar on her right collarbone left me with the guilt of never being there.
The spires of my mind curling up within my head, leaves me aching for the warmness of her reassuring hand.
But she’s gone, gone with the wolves.

She loves to haunt me with what used to be us.

She loves to lie on the bed naked, deep within the confined walls
of my memories.

She loves to make me remember her just when I’m about to forget her.

She loves to see me crept in the corner of the room unable to move on.

She loves to cradle me when I am at my most vulnerable.

She loves to drink the tears I’ve cried over the next ten years.

She loved me, and yet I still love her.

She confines me.