It feels as though your eyes have stopped being a door,
as though I've stopped seeing your true intentions.
I love you incessantly still,
and as of recent,
I feel as though I'm staring into a mirror.
I only see myself in you.
That scares me,
as I'm not exactly the person I'd like to be.
Yet I always say to love yourself.
So maybe,
this is when I learn how.

I've always been
the impatient kind,
but for you,
I'd wait a lifetime.

My dresser drawer still smells like you.
That's why I always keep it closed.
I do not remember what you smell like,
I also don't remember what the hell is in that drawer.
That's close to meaningless considering
I somehow still remember your birthday,
and your middle name,
and the way you like your noodles cooked.
I hate that I have such a great memory
and I love when I forget,
because I worry you forget that I existed.
Like a bad dream you once had,
you've grown out of it.
I've grown out of you,
and maybe I've grown out of the shirt of yours
still sitting in that drawer.
I guess I do remember what's in that drawer.
I hate that I remember,
but love that I forgot
the way you smell,
because smelling is tasting,
and I could not bear to taste you once again.
The aftertaste of regret still lingers
when I hear her name.
I wonder if she tastes like me.
Like me,
the me I couldn't be.

I'm forever in awe with how you change my mood completely.
I've learned not to let people do this, not to let them affect my mood.
But *******, your laugh makes my heart swell, it fills up the empty.
And when you look at me, I feel it again.
I feel the floating, my feet are hardly touching the ground.
When you play me my favorite songs as a surprise,
I can hardly see because it's hard to keep my eyes open when I'm smiling so wide.
****,
all I need is your voice saying my name and my heart's a pro boxer,
my ribs are its punching bag, giving meaning to the words heartBEAT.
And *******, do I love you.
I have since day one, and I think I will forever.

You've got a twinkle in your eye,
one I really can't describe.
Yet your laugh shines so bright
it reminds me of the stars in the night sky.
Maybe it's because you feel so out of reach.
I could be asked to wish upon a star,
yet I'd think about you.
You're like my North Star.
You guide me.
I'm not sure what lies ahead,
and that alone is overwhelming most nights.
But my certainty clings to the fact that
I know my future will be bright,
so long as you stay in it.

When I was young, I was told that
"bad things happen at 3 a.m."
We were made to believe
that we were "not alone."
Now,
the scariest thing about being awake
when the Witching Hour strikes,
is knowing you're not here,
and I'm alone in this bed.