when will i stop
making playlists about you?
writing poetry about you?

when i realize
         there is no you.
there was you.

and when you were you,
i wasn't me.

so really,
our love no longer exists.
          we no longer exist.

and now-
now i feel myself letting you go.

infatuation is a funny thing.
it doesn't rhyme with love,
but it sure sounds a lot like it.
ideallic,
surreal,
mostly because it isn't.

silly girl,
you didn't see
what was right in front of you.
you saw imagination.
you saw perfection.
life isn't Barbie,
and he isn't Ken.

don't be fooled by the fantasies
inside your head.
the mind is a universe of its own.
unexplored,
full of wonder and surprise.
trickery and demise.
seek out what is real,
and decipher what is not.

how could i ever go back
to a time before?

a time before you
and before hard love.
a time before my soul surfaced
from the darkness.
a darkness we created.
it wouldn't be fair to say it was you only.

it was you only i wanted.
it was you only i craved.
i yearned for your love
in my own desperation
and through my disposition
came depression.
anxiety.
self-doubt.

who was i before you?
who did i become with you?
who will i be without you?

when they tell you, "don't fall in love with a poet," mark their words.

poets love differently than most. we feel differently than most.
we fall in love with words as we trace their outline onto your bare skin.
                                we fall for prose, not people.

we'll dream about what it's like to lose you before you're ever gone.
                                                                                   we romanticize loss.
a heart inflicted is a powerful tool and the passion that flows through our bodies fuels our writer's hand.
           melancholy was gifted to us.

we express our thoughts best when we write them down
as we write you off with nothing left to say.
                                                      we will leave you br oke n.

                  "don't fall in love with a poet," they warn,
                           "you'll only ever be their muse."

so what made you different from the rest?
your ability to provoke,
to evoke
my emotions.
the passion you ignited to the surface,
who knew i had it in me?

push and pull;
pushing just past my limits,
magnetic forces pulling us together.
together, there with you;
it felt like home.

the space between us
felt like a river.
it was only a small distance
i had to cross, but
would i sink or swim?

gasping for breath,
taking in all of your oxygen.
it was never enough.
what we had was never enough.

we were a flame,
bound to go out.
inevitability on our side.

time was never on our side.

"innocence"
in its denotative form means;
"a lack of corruption or purity."
"innocence"
in its connotative form means;
"a time before you."
the person i was before you
is   gone   gone   gone.
i fell down the rabbit hole of love
and drugs.

fighting for your affection,
your attention.
you were my favorite affliction.

i crossed a line from which i can never
return.
i ate from the fruit of eden,
and i paid my price.

a beautiful serpent;
you wrapped me up,
slowly warming my skin
layer upon layer
until you swallowed me whole.
into the darkness, i was consumed
only by you.

a loss of innocence.

a simile comparing my love to the explosion of a star as a supernova

have you ever seen a star explode?
do you know what a supernova feels like?
I've never seen a supernova, but I've felt one.  I've fallen in love with the brightest stars and once they disappear, it's only a matter of time before it hits me. First the wind hits me from the outermost layer and I feel it but have no idea what's to come. Then the heat begins to consume me. It's hurting but I've not reached the point of rupture. And once I do my whole body collapses into the heart of a supernova. Watching the star burst into a million pieces all at once as if thinking about your own heart, feeling it do the same.

That's what it felt like loving you, you were a supernova that just completely decimated my world.