Wrong.
We were always
So wrong.
Every piece of me and you
Was sketched with dull pencils.
Every move we made was punished.
I was the girl who questioned you,
And you were the boy
who filled by mind with poetry.
tragedy in every sentence,
Melodrama seizing our sanity,
Till we shattered.
That's the thing about disasters,
They always leave a little bit of debris behind.

You sat on the washing machine and I sat on the dryer. Words poured out of your mouth much like the alcohol that made you say them. You do this thing when you’re having a serious conversation where you lower your voice, quiet and secretive. I like to think you do that on purpose. I like to think that you want me to lean in closer; you want me nearer to you. You told me pretty things, and some not so pretty things. But I swear when I stood in front of you and laid my hand on yours just barely enough to feel it, I swear I felt my heart jump straight through my ribcage.
“Crushes never really go away,” and you said, “they sure don’t”. I wanted to look you straight in the eye and have you see what this “crush” has been doing to me. It’s funny because it’s not so painful anymore. Though I may be saying that a bit too soon, you and I seem to change dynamic almost every other day. You’re it. You’re always it. I hate it, but you’re it. You and me. It’s a thing, ya know. And so help me God, it better still be a ******* thing in fifteen years. I know your mom and dad had “electricity”, and I’m still waiting to find that with you. I don’t really know where I’m going with this, but all I know is that this is the first time I’ve written something about you and I haven’t had tears on my face. I’m still waiting for us, but I’m not so sad about it anymore.

I skipped class today to take a nap. I let my body sink into this stupid, springy mattress and closed my eyes. I think of sleep, and then I think of you. I imagine how your lips might feel against mine. I imagine how the tickle of your beard might feel against my cheek. I think about your lips kissing my chin, and then my neck, and then my collar bone. I imagine how it might feel to have the touch of your fingers burn holes in my skin. I think about your breath at the nape of my neck as you wrap your arms around me and hold me tight. I imagine how it might feel to tangle my legs with yours and get lost in these sheets. I imagine how you might look at me. I imagine it might be much like the way you look at her.
I didn’t take a nap today. But that’s okay.

“I never raised you to be afraid of love,”
Was what my mother told me as I cried into the phone.
You don’t really notice you’re cynical or broken till one day
You realize you can’t love somebody the way they deserve to be loved.
I don’t know if it was one hit that sank me,
One giant ice burg that brought me down;
Or if it was just years of small splinters,
Tearing me away from the inside.
When I look at you it feels right.
95% of the time I’m sure I’m wrong,
So this must be right, right?
I know we’re not on the playground anymore
And I can’t chase you, but if you ride around
On this merry-go-round with me I promise,
It’ll be worth it.
I’ve stopped sending you songs because they
Don’t mean the same to you as they do to me.
But that’s okay, I’m beginning to understand that
I don’t need you here for things to be beautiful.
I know we’re not on a playground. But you’re still it.

It’s Thursday night and we just saw each other for the first time in five days. We smoked a cigarette and talked about all the things we could think of that didn't have to do with you and me. I mean, why talk about things out of either of our control? Before I saw you I put on my colorful socks because I know that you like them. I sat and listened to you talk about school and tests and began to think how she already knows this. Everything you’re saying is simply a regurgitation of sentences you have already told her. We leave and you say, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” even though I know you won’t. In my room I light a candle and watch the wax form a pool at its base. I begin to wonder: if I sipped all the wax would it harden in me and keep me together? Would it keep this exterior of mine whole? You were the one thing holding me together, and now you’re gone. And the only thing I can seem to do is write poetry about you. I know my poetry is mediocre but you’re the only person who makes me feel like it’s okay. As long as I can remotely translate your stare into stanzas made of midnights and coffee, I don’t lose myself entirely. Because if I can still remember what it feels like to be loved by you, I’m not totally lost yet.

please don't forget me
I'm only here for so long
I'm worth it, I swear