Thank you for the large sushi platters
cheap, but would fill our bellies to their brims.
Thank you for the red lights,
that would grant us a moment to make out in public.
Thank you for the skyline,
that you gave to me in the rain and the sweet summer sunshine.
Thank you for the grains of sand on that one beach,
the cold water only made me hold you tighter.
Thank you for the road trip to Ohio,
you know I missed her too much to breathe.
Thank you for giving me spontaneity,
it is amazing how capable I am to achieve this trait.
Thank you for the long drives,
where I would cry and your voice would match the pitch of sweet Marley,
you would remind me that I was loved, that I was worth getting up in the morning for.
Thank you for the swim in the lake at the Botanic Gardens,
you let me come up for air first.
Thank you for the random calls,
your pungent voice reduced the swelling of home sickness.
Thank you for the large sushi platters,
cheap, but they filled our mouths with stale rice and rotting fish.

The idea of kissing someone else in the summer time
burned my lips.
They felt scolded as they touched someone else
under the heat waves of mid June.
They became parched as they braced themselves
against someone else's bare, sweated, sand covered chest.

Scolded lips--scolded.
Forever burned.

I peeled back the skin on the clementine,
your silhouette stood in front of the counter as you urged me to aim slices at your mouth,
The echo of my laugh stained the walls.
This time, when I peeled its poignant skin back,
your silhouette was not there.

I found the molded tickets
to the music festival we only brought three dollars to,
It was enough to buy us a greased bag of bacon slices.
Thank God water is free.

I mistakenly wore your Superman boxers to bed for three weeks
until I realized they were yours.
I went to bed every time in them feeling
oh so super,
oh so nostalgic,
oh so happy.
I threw them away the moment I remembered that they touched your skin.
I  decontaminated my room.

I peeled back the emotional blanket today,
My emotions were naked; exposed
as I found the condoms we planned to use for Valentine's Day.
The long distance between us morphed us into planners instead of go-getters.

The go-getters were the ones that fell in love.
The planners were the ones that lost each other among the open fields separating us.

He told me I was convenient
That what we had between us was convenient
That the space in which we gave value to was convenient.

Magic has never been convenient
and maybe that's why I fly a little further every day
try to grasp those ******* stars behind some clouded city lights
trying to grab the ******* magic in between his palms because even atoms bouncing off each other were never convenient.

He practices science.
it's his religion
he preaches to the hydrogen bonds that stabilize our DNA.
He's praying to the mother of chemistry,
worshiping the biological systems in our body
trying to save lives that will one day be in need of saving.

I told him convenient was not my style of living,
that I preach to others day by day the gift of happiness.
That the rotten glares make me question this gift,
but I hold onto the magic.

I'm giving her reason to live. I can't find it myself anymore these days. I cannot fathom-ly place the pieces of my broken self into a piece of art that would make beings gawk.

I told her that if I could, I would take all the pieces I've placed together, and give them to her. To know how conflicted happiness and sadness are the greatest paradox to live inside your soul.

To know the sensation of a smile kissing your lips, instead of kissing a boy.

To know the tingling in your fingertips, when you nerve endings are no longer dead at the place where you are supposed to feel life's every painstaking, throbbing moment.

This life is worth the pity that crawls up into the weaves of your skull late at night as the luminescence from the computer screen is screaming for you to keep your eyes glued on it because if you close your eyes you are not sure whether or not they will open again.

To wake up every morning with either a hangover, a smile, or sadness over your shoulder.

The pitiful moments through the blizzard are worth it to see the sunshine windy days that spring brings.

Spring isn't here yet-
the groundhog said it might not come this year.

I'll keep treading through this powder white with her heart in my hand until I reach the sun.

One.
We passed a notable check mark.
The swirly twirly pieces of manipulated metal would put a smile on Buddy the Elf's face.
Their fabrication mirrored ours.
We swirly and twirly.

Two.
We thought smoking green at the **** recreation would be the least originated pun to occur. Notable check mark unflagged.

Three.
This temporary home has me craving for permanence.
I desire for your voluptuous voice to kiss my ears for a sense of familiarity.
Your printed face will be engulfed in flames.
I am a lady and we behave best under cliches.

Four.
It's the first night we won't video chat here.
The first day I will introduce myself as single to strangers and old acquaintances.
Your voice box will not be directed towards me tonight.
The first night I will not have to leave the room in order to be enchanted by your melody.
The air is stale with living mates and stories of home.
My story of home was our ending.
The room drew to a pinhead silence.
The voice of light cracking came from everyone's chests.

Five.
Socrates is impossible to pay attention to when the argument being presented is the dispute you and I. Who in the end is more wise?
Who has won this butterfly bullet shoot me in the face one more time so I remember what sensation against one's heart is like.

Six.
I saw two of them struggling, holding onto dear life.
She ran to him and gave him a passionate kiss.
They mirrored us, trying to sew up the stitching while it was being unraveled at the other end.
They needed to keep the needle and thread poking up and over up and over.
It was love's final desperation.
Final desperation of holding on.

Seven.
Mother was right, at my age my hormones just race just like my emotions.
It's been over a month since we've heard each other's voices.
The word "poljubac" came in as he went in for a kiss along with that your voice.
You loved kissing me.
At the end, they stopped meaning anything.
Your kisses, their electricity was diminished.

Eight.
I ran into Brian.
His sunglasses gave the same luminescence they did on nightly drives getting high and high and higher and higher until we were floating above Lake Shore Drive.
The green line brim on his hat matched the color.of the lights that showed during Christmas time.
It was a time for cheer. Oh ** ** ** the cheer.

Nine.
Looking through these pictures makes me sick.
I miss you.
Can we fall in love for one more night?
Have you call me duso and lay on the lawn chairs and only speak with our eyes?
Can you show me the hidden parts of the city one last time?
One last time.
Your fingertips need to be removed from my body although their prints have already formed scars.
I cut my hip because that was your favorite part of my body to touch.
I sliced it.

Ten.
I suggested that we get matching tattoos, so when you did leave that there would be a physical print of my being.
My physical touch of an idea to stay together forever would be inked in your skin.

Ten.
I'm about to embark on a spiritual journey.
My first lecture will consist on preaching of the Christian god.
Today is day one of this spiritual journey.

Nine.
I'm lying ****.
I lay on the floor and I'm **** as I sit on the floor and lie.
It was the first consistent kiss without you.
I'm lying ****.
I have time to find myself and instead I am shaking hands with my deviling unconscious greeting it with open arms.

Eight.
I have paved a path in the snow.
The bus ran over and rerouted my path.
I'm still lying.
I'm still ****.
I have lost the art of loving thyself and discovering my fullest potential.
I am a hypocrite.
I preach about the belief of discovering thyself as I bury myself in the snow and underneath these lies. The snow angels I made had horns on them.

Seven.
I lost sense of my personality when my phone was not glued to my hands and when I boy was not hanging from my lips, I lost sense of myself.

Six.
They called me into the room.
I was hoping you would be in the doorway as I strutted down the hall way.
Oh please, your grace to surprise me would fill every gaping hole in this heart of mine.
The ones that you left behind, learn to clean up after yourself.
Learn to clean up your ******* mess.

Five.
I cleaned up my ******* mess.

Four.
I'm learning day by day by day.
Today is our first month without the other.
It takes 21 days to break a habit.
I'm starting to stop thinking about you every day.

Three.
This heart of mine is torched, the pieces have melted together.
For once, I feel whole.
I asked of you last night, as bruises were forming from tackle football.
Our mutual friend said you've been better, and I asked him to make that happen.
He promised he would do his best.
The bruises were forming, they felt wonderful as the blood rushed to my skin, the blood rushed to my brain and heart it felt good to be alive.
It felt good to feel the flow of the blood against my skin as I gracefully stroke my hands across.
I discovered why you loved being in my arms because I fell in love with the feeling of being in my own ******* arms.

Two.
I fell in love, Emmett.
I fell in love with my skin the way it chaps when harsh winds beat it.
I'm in love with the way my nose wrinkles when unpleasant stories are told.
I'm in love with my spontaneity, for once I see it as a blessing.
I'm in love with my tongue rolling verbatim every time I have an opinion that needs to be preached.
I am finally my own preacher.

One.
The swirly twirly pieces of divergent thoughts in my head would put a smile on Buddy the Elf's face.
The notable check marks have been unflagged.
The pieces of shattered heart have melted together.
My skin is now my permanent home.
The tears that are now shed are for reasons I consider joyful.
You are no longer on my mind.
You are a check mark.
One that I shall pass when nostalgic.
You are the one that I wish best upon. I am the one that is best left,
now untouched.