I never used to drink black coffee,
my body had craved the sugar, begged for the sweetness  
but after all of our afternoons in that coffee shop,
after all the nights where I drank nothing but you,
I found myself more and more okay with the taste,
I found myself needing less and less sweetness to satisfy my tongue.

It was only after you left did I realize I had come to enjoy black coffee,
I had grown accustomed to the bitterness and dreaded the sweetness.

It was only after you left did I realize you had taken all the sweetness with you.

I close my eyes and I can see you,
standing beside me, lips moving—but those words,
those words I tell myself to forget,
they’re etched into the walls of my head,
that’s why they echo night after night after endless night.

It pains me, dear god it pains me,
with such deafening severity that I wonder,
wonder if perhaps words could ****,
if they could physically manifest
and drive themselves through my chest—
those words certainly did.

Daggers, jagged-edged daggers, that’s what they were,
that’s what they still are: permanently fixed just seconds below my clavicle,
you can hear them as they crash into my ribs with every step,
playing a tune of desperation as if it were a cry for help,
you can watch as they tear new wounds with every stride
into the barely beating ******* I call my heart—

sometime I get called strong and I laugh
because I am not strong nor am I resilient,

I am stubborn. Stubborn and stupid.
If I were strong I would not be dying
if I were strong I would have walked
if I were strong this would not be the end—

Science says your pupils dilate
when something of interest
enters your field of vision.

I suppose that makes sense,
because when I see you
everything else disappears.

You're the only thing there
and I'm sure my eyes widen
because they want to take you in.

Everything from the curve of your lips
to the lingering gaze of your eyes,
I have to have it all.

And when you walk away,
I know my eyes must constrict--
suddenly the world is smaller.

There are too many nights when your name
still finds its way into my bed,
crawling through the sheets
and into the cracks of my tattered heart.

Sometimes it can be comforting,
memories of the better days—but usually,
usually it’s the abrupt ending
that deepens my self loathing
and keeps me from sleeping.

After all this time, you’d think I’d hate you,
despise your existence for all the pain you’ve caused me
but I can’t help this stupid heart of mine
from doing anything but loving you.

I miss it. I miss us. I miss you.
And it’s killing me.

I think about the nights we used to stay up talking
and the nights we’d joke about the future
and the life we were going to have together
and it all seems like some bizarre dream nowadays;
it’s becoming harder and harder
to remind myself that these things happened,
that my love for you was justified
even if the way you treated me wasn’t.

They story of you and I has become a tired tune,
no one will listen to it anymore so I’ve locked it away,
away in the darkest parts of my memory.

It’s going to be a long time before I can think of you
and appreciate the happiness, without breaking from the sadness.

I’m sorry.

Someone once told me
that I was everything
anyone could every want
in a person and I know
I’ve told others
the very same utterance of words
in hopes to brighten their mood
but in the grand scheme of reality
they were missing something
and I’m missing something
and while I can see what they’re missing
I can’t see what I’m missing
and no one will tell me;
I ask them with hopes of improvement
and yet they smile and touch my arm
and tell me no, I’m fine, I’m just fine
and I can see the lies—
I want to know
I want to know
why people leave me
and why I wasn’t good enough
and why I stay up at night
crying about the past
while you day by day
begin to forget my name.

I tell myself I've moved on
but that doesn't explain
why I go out of my way
to avoid a place,
wondering if you'll show up
when I find myself there anyways.

It's funny how time changes a person;
it's even funnier when it doesn't.

I left you and you left me and I thought
if I were to ever come back, we'd be strangers.

But we're not; it should feel like we've easily
spent lifetimes apart and even though things have happened

You're very much you, and I am me
and we're still somehow us.