this small, narrow stream is made of the sweet things you said to me. these lilacs are made of the way my name sounds lazily rolling off of your lips. the frigid wind that whips through my hair is made of the whispers you snuck into my ear. this raging, deadly waterfall is made of the way you left without saying goodbye. the footprints in the moss and handprints in the mud is evidence of how you came and went. i still miss you. i wear you on my skin in silence.

everything is on fire but my hands and feet are cold

he called me pathetic for loving him.
for caring about him.
he said that i should be over it.
he said that i should've moved on a long
long
long
long
time ago.
but i didn't stop caring.
i can't stop caring.

i called him pathetic for not learning to forgive
for not learning to forget.
i told him that he should be over it.
that he should've moved on a long
long
long
long
time ago.
but he didn't forget
he can't forget.