You worry that you wouldn't be able to give me the world,
when in reality there's not much to give me but your all;
giving me all of you is giving me the world.
I'm not saying you've nothing to offer.
I'm just saying that you don't have to try to give me anything;
breathing your air is privilege enough.
You've not stopped being my world since the day you left.
It worries me, because the only reason I'm certain, is I don't doubt us.
I only pray I can become your world again.
I'm homesick, I feel as though I've been lost in the stars.
Maybe that's why you said you see them in my eyes.
It's the filter that so finely differentiated you and I.
I've always had my head in the clouds, and I worry that the weights on your shoulders prevent you from seeing things from my perspective.
I told you from day one;
you make my heart feel like it's floating.
I just haven't come down yet.

The moment you walked into the room,
tousled hair, guitar case in hand,
I knew I had to talk to you.
Your forest eyes were tired but you tried so hard to seem interesting,
and I was determined
to find my way through those emerald pines
so tightly sequestered in your iris to
your mind.
Everything was lighthearted until the drive home.
You told me we should definitely talk or hang again soon.
Keeping in mind that it was me you were talking to,
I chuckled awkwardly and waved it off.
"It's more something you'll have to follow up on.
"It doesn't matter how many times I ask to go places,
"See people,
"Everyone forgets about me.
"It's okay though. I'll see you around."

Obviously, I'm not good at first impressions.

I saw you around, here and there,
when suddenly, we lost a mutual friend.
I'd been crushing on your irish charm for some time now.
You were nearing the end of a relationship.
The most ****** up thing,
is the fact that
I knew
that I loved you
when
you walked into the room
holding her hand.

It's ironic- and kind of unnerving-
that three weeks later,
you were taking me on our first date.
Despite the location--
Country Christmas, Pewaukee, WI--
the color that was most vibrant was the look in your eyes
when you leaned in to kiss me.

Those forest eyes are the ones I was screaming to
seven months later.
Almost to date.
The ones I was begging for answers from,
on my knees in front of one of the many Wisconsin forests,
alone.
Tears stung my eyes as I hit the ground.
Your name tore at my throat as I looked at the trees
and saw nothing but your eyes.

I was tempted to run into the forest.
I was tempted to see if it would lead me back to you,
if I could finally get through the brush and find your smile again.

I wonder if I'll see it again.
I wonder if I'll kiss you again.

All I knew from the moment you walked into the room,
tousled hair, guitar case in hand,
was you were going to be a part of my life, forever.

I was just hoping you'd be my forever.

18, no sense of purpose.
A bottle of pills and ***** later,
you're lying in a hospital bed.
You're not awake right now.

People keep asking me to give you some advice,
saying, "You know how it feels, right?"
How do I talk to someone who's hardly even there?

This hypocrisy echoes like a church bell in my head,
I don't practice what I preach.
I ask people to reach,
out for me,
out to help,
but I can't even reach out to you?
I can't help the fear.

How do I tell someone it'll all be okay,
especially when I'm still fighting to find a reason to stay, myself?

I last saw you at Christmas, a family event.
You even had me fooled, cleaned up,
new job, going to school,
further than I ever expected to be myself.

But here we are again.
Same place, same tricks.

You're supposed to turn 19 next week.
I want to say I love you but I'm scared to delve that deep.
I want to say I love you, but I'm already a mess.
I want to say I love you but I can't lose somebody else,
I can't go to another funeral.
I've never been to a funeral for someone over 18,
please, don't make that change,
don't make the number raise.

Smoky blue eyes, can you see past the fog?
Haley, why won't you stay?
I promise, it fades.
I'm not strong enough for both of us,
give me a little leeway,
try,
stop pushing me away.

Haley, please,

Tomorrow's a new day.

July is unbearably hot in Wisconsin.
Lose yourself in the sun's rays.
Not the *****.
Not the pills.

How do I reach out to you?

I can't stop the fear.

It was the first time we'd seen each other
since we broke up.
We were sitting on a picnic table bench
at the last place we went on a date ,
crying our eyes out.
You saw the tears in my eyes
and you choked on yours.
"What are we?" You laughed through the tears.
"A mindfuck. A glorious, incredible mindfuck."
I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood,
and you pulled me into your arms.
You didn't let me go until I stopped crying.
"I never knew there was a such thing as an intimate hug," you announced.
I laughed.
You pulled back and put your forehead to mine,
and I didn't kiss you.
I stopped myself.
"Are we thinking the same thing right now?"
You chuckled, voice wavering.
I responded, "Yes."
That was the first time I didn't tell you I loved you when I felt it.
I wish I did.

"We're trying so ******* hard
not to be a couple.
Not to act
like we want each other more than anything.
But holy ****,
it's like trying to forget how to breathe.
How can you just stop doing something
so natural that you never even learned to do it,
something just happened on its own?
How can you stop something
that feels so ******* right
and calming
and healthy
and try to find alternatives?
Ways to complete life
without doing the action
you're trying so hard not to do?
Pretending not to love him feels like
being on a respirator.
I just want to breathe again,
I just want to breathe naturally;
I just want to be his again,
I just want to be us again."

My pulse quickens when I descend those stairs,
and when I reach the bottom and look to the place
where we used to lay, where you slept so many times,
I wonder if it's called a heartbeat because of the bruises
I feel forming on the inside of my ribcage
from how hard my heart thuds.

I spent nine hours awake in bed yesterday,
hungover,
or is the word overhang?
Thoughts of you looming overhead,
whether or not I'll ever kiss you again.
You see your scent has stained my clothing,
my couch, my bed,
and although it's now subtle,
I still smell it from time to time and I mostly smile.
Yet I start feeling unsettled because I know not what we are,
old friends in love?
Or should I call you my ex?
You held me last week,
for the first time in over a month,
and there were no hard feelings.
No feelings except love and confusion.

I'm confused.

You got drunk the other night and messaged me,
telling me you missed me.
I thought I'd made it obvious that I miss you too,
your fingers tracing my curves in your bed on those late winter nights,
the way your lips molded with mine,
proving that maybe I am an artist,
because never before was I part of such a beautiful piece of work.
Work, because it was not easy,
but no masterpiece is.
It's late nights of thinking, frustration,
and sometimes, no sleep at all.
It's compromise,
it's accepting the faults and moving past them,
learning to embrace them.

Though when it's finally over,
you can't help but think of how breathtaking it is.

The problem is, our canvas was massive--
we were far from filling its empty spaces.

I can't help but hope that as we are,
completely aware we love each other,
still too far in to stop loving each other now,
that maybe,
we will pick up the paintbrushes
and finish this masterpiece.

Maybe my ribs will get some rest
from the beating they've undergone,
maybe we can finally earn some repose,
together.

Everything reminds me of you.
I'd say you're stuck in my head,
But the proper term is "earworm--"
You are not a pest.
You're too friendly,
Too lovable.
You closer resemble puppy,
Just like everyone says.
Only I feel as though you've run away.
I miss your loyalty.
Your companionship.
Your ability to make me smile,
No matter how hard I cry,
And those incredible, sparkling eyes.
I worry about you, now,
Because it seems you've run away.
I wonder where you've been,
If you're being treated well.
Or, if you've been alone.
Just like anyone who
Has lost their best friend,
I just want you to come home.