You tasted like cinnamon, like summer.

You were a shade lighter than caramel, and your eyes were forever swirling, green and gold and chocolate.

When you made me promises, I dared to believe them.

I was wrong and you are a liar.

And when I finally let my broken dreams fall from my too-thin fingers, you were not there to catch them.

And when you finally stopped saying you were sorry, eyes like a stormy sea, you smiled like the sunrise.

And then you forgot me, like I was the clouds making your world gray, finally blowing away.

And I sincerely hope,
that you cannot forget,
my cloud nine eyes and sugared lips.

My thin fingers on your chest, eyes flashing under neon lights.

I hope you cannot forget me and every sweet nothing spoken with damp hair and starry lashes.

And I hope everytime you touch her hair, you feel mine under your fingertips.

"This will be the last time that we see each other. And someday, 'i love you' will be as friends from a million miles away.

Good-bye Taylor. It's time to let go."

You probably shouldn't love me.

I will write about every detail I adore, paint you with brilliant vocabulary words that you will never hear come out of anyone's mouth, and idolize every breath you take.

I will romanticize your eyelashes and hands and the way your lips curve into a smile, slip you into every simile and metaphor, and my work will have you in every beat.

And when you inevitably crush me and let me down, (like everyone else), I will write our ending like some beautiful tragedy, and every so often, a nostalgia-inspired piece about you will arise.

So darling, darling, please. Do not bring me up just to crush me beneath my own glass dreams.

and now that i can no longer stand myself, i find solace in you.

dark eyes and dark hair and long legs and artists hands, all pale skin and a lanky figure stretched across my couch, gesturing and laughing and resting a cold arm across my shoulders.

tips of fingers tracing across my own flesh like slim ice cubes, soothing and tickling at once, and my pulse finally slows and i get lost in someone else for awhile.

you plan to get high on easter and nearly every other day, you rarely speak but let soft touches and tight hugs convey what you can't say.

you told me you had never loved anyone and may never love anyone, and your favorite memory is of a cat you had as a child.

you smiled, but your eyes were black holes.

I am as much of a victim to my own nature as anyone else.

One year ago
I saw you last
You said "I love you"
As you stepped
On to the bus