They say the pen is mightier than the sword
If this is true then God was the sword and you were a pen
And I was the pencil who laid you a foundation of erased mistakes only for you to trace upon them as if they didn't exist.
And I was cast in the bottom of some cluttered bag
while you were gently capped and placed in a box lined with blue silk,
And you knew I would always be there to test the waters before you spilled the pages with your brash delicacy.
But you needed me and I craved you for completion.
Together we created sweeping illustrations and lengthy novels with dozens of sequels.
We depicted a tale of modern love in our ball-pointed journey.
But my graphite stayed intact while your ink started to run out.
I could see as our pages unfolded that your colors no longer spread as boldly.
You became more and more invisible as I desperately etched harder and harder into every page hoping to give you clearer guidelines
but you no longer had it in you.
And soon enough we couldn't make anything beautiful.
You had run out.
And I'm still hopelessly drawing maps desperate that you can regain what you once had and use the indentations on previously blank pages to find your way back to me.

I wrote you one thousand love letters,
But only a few were right.
I poured everything I had into them in the hopes that my pen marks would bleed through
and etch my words on to your heart.

And I know where you kept them all tucked away.
I imagined you sneaking looks at them
in late hours of the night
so you could read them silently in my voice and pretend I was there
as I did with yours.
I noted every curve of your penmanship
And memorized how you wrote as if it were a dying language.

But then you stopped looking at my notes.
The ink faded and my love was no longer legible to you.
As your words still resonated in me, mine fled from you.
And the words became sharp and venomous    
They hit me in the gut and i spit fire back because it was all I knew how to do.
And I am sorry.

While we may never again exchange folded papers filled with secrets and sweet nothings,
I hope some day you find yourself late at night
reading my love letters
you never threw away.

Dear the first greatest thing my heart laid eyes upon
You follow me everywhere.
With every step I take you're one step behind me
A handsome burden whom I am unable to detach from.
You keep me up at night when my eyelids struggle to stay open
But shutting my eyes doesn't do any good when everything that was beautiful comes in replaying frames over and over again after midnight.
You, who in a matter of minutes shattered everything that was innocent and happy inside of me
are still the most fantastic thing to ever have graced my life.

What happened?
Maybe if love was a little less menacing you wouldn't have let go so quickly.
Maybe if I spoke a little softer, loved a little quieter, kissed more gently you would still be here.
Maybe if, maybe if, maybe if, maybe if.
Maybe if you still loved me I wouldn't be writing this.

I wish we could have been a little less hostile
I wish you didn't take her places you know id be just to show that you've recovered.
I wish she didn't walk by me in silence with a stare that says I won.
I wish you kept your promises and I wish I could unlove you.

And you tell all your friends I'm crazy yet none of them know how we cried in each other's arms and you said your life was forever changed the night you walked away and never came back.
They may know how to make you laugh and
She may know where to touch you but
No one knows the beautiful human that took me years to discover.

I hope you remember the times where we pretended the outside world was insignificant and forgot that time is a heavy burden to bear.
We both knew somewhere deep within that time and love cannot coexist but if we suppressed it enough perhaps we could be the exception.
And as I reflect on our eternal countdown I realized that maybe that's what happened.
We weren't the exception.
Maybe we simply ran out of time.