I’ve thought so many times 

that I had found that love 
that everyone talks about 
because
I’ve felt butterflies 

I’ve seen the sparks in my own eyes 
when I looked in the mirror

and thought of you 

I’ve realized
this isn’t the way 
you love someone

because love isn’t about the butterflies 
or the Sparks in your eyes

love doesn’t give you the emptiness in your stomach

the worry at three in the morning
love does not discriminate 

love is not angry

love is calm

love is peaceful 

love is watching a sunset after an incredible storm 

love is breathing fresh air

love is standing on a cliff 
and feeling comfort in your eyes

it is the lungs of someone else connecting with yours

inhaling and exhaling
without a worry 

without a care

sometimes we forget 

the movies and books have taught us

that love is riveting
and adventurous 

that love is all over the place 

that love is screaming

that love is blinding

but love is relaxing 

love is like breathing

love is like thinking 

love is natural

love is enticing 

love is easy

love is beautiful

3:11am

I’m sweating 

three minutes ago I was freezing 

but I caught myself drowning 
in my feelings of missing you 

and that’s become terrifyingly 
uncomfortable

3:12am

the sheets are still off my bed

they have been since I left 

I’m still laying uncomfortably 

but I can’t muster the courage 
to fix them

3:13am

the candle light flickers

and I think of things we used to do

I didn’t spend too much time with you

why am I feeling so cold again

3:14am

there’s no sense in dwelling

on things out of my control

but I’m playing out scenarios 

of how this could have been

it’s 3:14am 

and I haven’t slipped into 

unconsciousness yet

I’m too afraid to dream 

because I know you’ll be interrupting

3:15am 

I’m still breathing

its quiet, except for the hum of the fan

both fans, I mean,

there’s two,

because its too hot for just one.

it’s quiet, except in my head

there is a drummer,

along with an orchestra,

and a marching band.

some days it’s harder to see straight,

and harder to train my mind to think

correctly and not,

irrationally.

the ceiling fan makes a tapping noise

its very quick,

then stops,

then comes back quick again,

then stops,
and I guess that fan is kind of like me.

I ******* hate the ceiling fan.

I write poetry in my head quite a lot
but I forget when I wake up
just like I have forgotten how to breathe
somehow that happens in the spaces between your ears
in through your nose
out through your mouth
my parents told me this a lot
when they were together
I don't remember them being together
besides when the argued in the room painted with dandelions
that was my room, my mother painted it
I don't want to be like my parents
I'd rather forget how to breathe
than stab someone's heart