The worst part about
missing you is not knowing
whether you feel this
way about me too.

The clocks have never
worked in our favour,
maybe I must accept
we'll always be bad timing.

I'm not sure
if I was going to to see the band
or to see you.

I know you cared for me
and I'll never understand
why I deserved someone like you,
but what's even harder
to comprehend is how
you could touch me
and look at me like that
and then throw what we had away.

When I first met you I thought
you were too good to be true,
Now I'm beginning to think
I imagined you all along.

What hurts the most
is not the thought that
maybe I wasn't good enough,
instead it's that for you,
maybe somebody else was.

I want you to know,
you were the first person
to call me ****
and the first person
to make me feel
that way too.

Why is it
I feel most alone
in bed with you,
then on my own.

You to me are warmth;
a kind of light that shows itself
in rays whenever you smile or speak.
I would say that you’re the sun,
but you’re sweeter then it’s shine
and your touch on my skin effects
me greater then that stars heat.
You ignite a kind of fire within me
that makes my insides feel as if
they are in some way melting.
I hope your summer stays because-
I don’t want to be cold again.

I can still feel his fingers
tap along to the beat,
hand nestled between
where my waist and hip meet;
it’s almost if he is trying
to make music of me.

His touch puts me in tune
and I’m an instrument
but only for his use,
because the way that boy
plays my body
is enough

to leave every inch
of it singing.

The sound of your voice,
inside of my mind

and the way that you laugh,
wide smiled; opened eyed

and your fingers entangling
themselves between mine

and your strong arms around me
holding me from behind

and the feel of your hair
paired with honest eyes

and the taste of your lips,
touched upon mine

and the rest of my skin always
somewhere to reside

and I’m scared, actually-
I’m ******* petrified

that soon I won’t
be able to remind

myself of how you look
sound asleep, by my side

and that maybe over time
we might forget everything

about one another,
all together.

Never in my life
has a boy kissed me like that.

Your hands trailed my body
so delicately, showing care

almost like I was a flower;
my parts petals

you were scared would wilt
if you pressed them too hard

and in that moment,
I realised-

that’s the only way
I wanted to be kissed again.

It's been so long
since I last kissed you,
that I think my lips

may have forgotten
how to move themselves
together with yours.

We use to call sweet torture
the way we'd tease each others bodies
until the early hours of the morning

but now for me, sweet torture is
how vividly I still remember
everything about you I'm longing to forget.

He would kiss better
every spot on her body,
promising that it would
make every mark heal

an then tell her that
her mouth was bruised,
so he had excuse to place
one last kiss on her waiting lips.

I feel so fragile all the time.
All it takes is one word misheard
and I shatter like glass;

broken into a thousands pieces
that hurt the people around me
seeing how big a mess I am.

What was meant to be a kiss good night turned into
staying up two hours past our bed time;

I don’t remember much of what was touched
or what was said, but your repetitive drunken whispers

telling me that I was ‘so ******* gorgeous’
will forever be engrained in my mind.

I asked you how I would know
that I was in love with him

and you answered
that I would spend a day

happily apart from him,
but know at it's end

the day would of been
a thousand times better

if I had the chance to spend
a mere second with him.

My dear friend;
I know you didn't mean
to make me cry today,

but what you haven't experienced
is the feeling of your heart
tearing into two

because a friend has
exposed the harsh reality
you don't want to be true.

The feel of your kiss
pressed against my head
was enough
to light a fire
within me.

The flame was so strong
that I'm not sure that
the river in front of us
would of held enough water
to extinguish it.

It calmed momentarily
by me placing a peck
on your cheek but
came into full flame when
your lips finally met mine again.

We both liked art and
you would stare at me like
I was a ******* painting;
I never felt so beautiful.

"You're so amazing
and I'm lucky to have you,"
the message read

and what you didn't know
was those were the sweetest words
my eyes had ever seen.

You put down my drink
complete with four straws,
exhaling a nervous ramble
of rehearsed words.

You told me that you
'didn't know what colour
would be my favourite so'
you 'put one in of each.'

I looked down to see
one yellow, one blue,
one pink and one green
dismissing you with a thank you,

but I wish I instead
would of stopped you
and told you for future,
my favourite is yellow.

Everyone will tell you that you’ll get over it,
that you will meet someone new and
all the feelings will quickly be forgotten.
For a long time you won’t believe that is true.

It may take you days or weeks or maybe months
you feel like you are going crazy
because all you can think or talk about is
that one person that left you in pieces.

You will try distract yourself,
whether it be with work or alcohol
or even a stranger and you will begin to feel
like nothing will ever work.

You will try and convince yourself it’s a sign,
that the person that broke you
is the one that can fix you rather then you
continuing to try fix yourself.

You won’t want to get out of bed,
you won’t want to go to work,
you won’t want to see your friends,
all you want is to see them;

But one day you will wake up and
you won’t pretend they are there beside you,
you’ll listen to those songs again
without thinking about them

and you will return to the places
the two of you spent time
because it will no longer
remind you of the memories.

You will sit there and realise
the faults you saw in them
weren’t what made them human
but instead completely wrong for you

and most importantly you will see
that if that person was really that special,
they would have realised
that you are too.

I thought the first time
I’d tell someone I loved them,
It would have been mutual
whilst we were together and happy.

Instead, the first time
I told someone I loved them,
was two months post split whilst
they were telling me they had moved on.

Come quick,
take away the pen.

I’m writing about things,
I shouldn’t be feeling again.

We would joke
they would make a film about us,

but every moment did feel like
a movie with you.

There are 2727 kilometres between us
and there could be 2727 more;

it wouldn’t change the fact
that you’re the one I adore.

Two months post break up
you finally admit,
“I’ve never seen you as happy
as you were with him.”

What you didn’t know
is that was everything I both needed
but didn’t want to hear,
so on came the tears.

I want to back in that bookstore with you.

I want to sit next to you by the window
while we read together your favourite poet.

I want to watch your eyes skim the spines
as you search for something to share with me.

I want to feel your arms around my waist
as I scan the blurb of something I might buy,

because I enjoy reading with you
much more then trying to read you.

I miss feeling you.
Your grip on my thigh,
you caressing my hand,
you biting my skin,
you playing with my hair.
Wiping the grass of me
after trips to the park and
both your hold on my hip and
the bottom of my spine.

I miss hearing you.
The sound of your voice,
your attempts at sarcasm and
the way you’d laugh
when you really find something funny.
How you’d always swear in French
and speak to your Mum in Bulgarian,
the exhale you make when you’re happy
and when you’d sing in the car.
How your voice is barely audible
late at night and early morning.

I miss seeing you.
Seeing you cook,
seeing you drive,
the look of puzzlement
when trying to remember something
or the look of happiness
when you hear a song you love.
Seeing you buzzed and rosy cheeked
after a couple too many drinks.
Seeing you snug in my bed
at the end of the night.

I miss kissing you.
Lazy kisses, limbs tangled
in the early hours of the morning.
Kisses in the back of your car and
rushed kisses when saying goodbye.
Kissing your nose, kissing your neck
and you kissing my neck.
Kissing in the park, kissing in cafes
and kissing in art galleries.
Toothpaste kisses, prickly kisses
and kissing in one another’s beds.

I even miss the things that once annoyed me.
You always correcting my words,
getting frustrated when driving
and when you’d tease my lisp.
How’d you get up to change the song
in the middle of getting it on and
finish every intelligent ramble
with a defeated “I don’t know.”
Your need to check your hair
in anything reflective,
how you’d drink all my water
instead of just buying your own
and pick all the food I didn’t want off my plate.

I miss everything about you
and I hope maybe you miss me too.

Bruises scatter my legs
from falling over at the bar.

My throat burns dry
from tequila shots with strange boys.

My lips are swollen sore
from stealing kisses on the dance floor,

but my heart hurts the hardest
because I would rather have spent my night with you.

It was in your car we shared our first kiss
as I raced out to catch the train
and you caught my nose instead of my lips.

It was in your car I agreed to meet your friends
and you told me for the first time
I was beautiful when I smiled.

It was in your car new years day
you nearly crashed three times because
you wouldn’t keep your eyes on the road but instead on me.

It was in your car you decided that night
to take me to the park before home and
we danced in the dark under the stars.

It was in your car on that 40 degree day
we got half naked on the back seat and
made out the afternoon away

and it was in your car you broke up with me
on the way home from a weekend away,
where I realised I was in love with you.

Whether you have found someone
or you’re all alone,

you must remember the best relationship you can have,
is the one with yourself.

You have to know
nothing has changed.

I still want to write messages up your arm.
I still want to make mixtapes for your car.
I still want to leave kisses on your nose.
I still want to drink tea with you in the park.

You have to know that I still want to be yours,
if you still want me to be.

Just know I’ve never
been angrier at some one
in my entire life.

Do you still think of me
when you chew your gum?
(A habit of mine you inherited.)
Do you remember that spearmint was my favourite
and peppermint makes me sneeze?
Does the feel on your lips remind you of my kiss?
Does the taste in your mouth remind you of me?

Do you still think of me
when you drive in your car?
(Because I still haven’t learnt how to drive.)
Do you listen to the mixtape I made
for our one month anniversary?
Do you hear me singing along to each song?
Do you see me sprawled out under you on the backseat?

Do you still think of me
when you spray your cologne?
(You started wearing more so I could smell it.)
Do you remember me leaning over the table
to sniff you in that crowded café?
Does the feel on your skin remind you of my touch?
Do you still remember my scent?

Do you still think of me
when you listen to that song?
(you know the one by the band we both loved.)
Do you remember listening to it in my bed
during the early hours of the morning?
Do the lyrics still remind you of me?
Do you remember singing it together
moments before we broke up?

He wrote her a song,
one she never heard;

instead of his piano
he ended up playing her.

I’ve learnt sometimes the things you want
aren’t necessarily what’s right.

I’ve learnt that if it isn’t right,
then there is reason not to want it.

I use to love words,
but it was yours that broke me.

I don’t know if any essay you could write
could put me back together again.

You ruined my favourite song,
by my favourite band
and I hate the fact
it makes you think of me,

because I’m so sick
of thinking about you.

He studied law,
so I wish he’d had fought
a harder case for me.

I was both a fool for you,
and a fool for falling for you.

I think of you
between sips of coffee.
Like this mug we started warm and sweet
but turned into cold, unfinished bitterness.
Leaving me craving
another cup.

‘I love being in your bed,’
he told her.
She asked why
and he answered,

‘Partly for it’s comfort but
mostly because you’re in it.’

Being with you is the opposite
of everything I once desired,

but can I say I’ve never been happier
with something I didn’t want.

I am so much happier when I’m with you,
and as a women who prides herself
on being independent,
that is a terrifying thought;

but what I’ve come to realise is
I’m not loosing myself,
instead I’m becoming a better me
through spending time with you.

Despite priding myself on my words
you have me at a loss of them;

but I know when I find them
I will write books about you.

You make me crazy,
but keep me sane;
the cause of my illness
but the cure all the same.

You’re the medicine
I don’t want to quit;
making me better
whilst keeping me sick.

I want to feel your tongue trail my body,
like I’m your maze you’re trying to solve.