did you know that there are at least 100 billion galaxies in the observable universe
at least 300 billion stars in the milky way
that a blood vessel system could stretch over 60,000 miles
that the probability of us existing at all is about one in four hundred trillion
that the probability of us meeting is zero, because the set of things that could happen in our lives is uncountably infinite
and I don't know if there's such thing as souls destined to meet
but I do know we could've lived a thousand lives and we still found ourselves here
there's something holy in the hand you hold out of the 14 billion others
and even if the ending is not what we predicted, I'm so lucky to be known by you

I'll spend the rest of my days kissing your smile
and thinking of you while I'm folding my clothes
love is practice, a verb
love is the patience you've given without expectation
and when I questioned you, when I wondered if the stars really aligned for us
you showed me that love is a choice
it is not begging someone to stay, but knowing they will everyday
it's never an "you owe me" or being held against the weight of my wrong-doings
it's you and me, in all of my realizations and things I've yet to figure out
it's figuring them out together

I will not exhaust myself for the sake of making ends meet and let my dream wilt away
I refuse to settle, to find myself engrossed in a mundane life
in a town where the people are all pretending to not be miserable
I have spent too many minutes trying to fit the mold of what I thought I had to be
I want to believe I can come back to myself
like an old friend at a corner booth, caught in city winds
a foreign place but a feeling all too familiar
I'll meet her in a coffee shop, writing with ink stained fingers
this is the me I've always liked the most

I loved your skin more than my own and for that I failed myself
do you still think of me?
teach me how to love in fragments instead of with the whole of me
teach me about ill-timed affection and confessions given right when I begin to let go
I’ll teach you what it’s like to feel you; in my skin- in my head
I want to be unbothered by you, but my heart and mind have never reached a compromise
do you still think of me?

we paint a pretty picture out of holding on
out of never giving up hope
but sometimes it’s knowing when to call it quits
it’s letting go when you don’t feel ready, because you realize you’re waiting for someone who’s already gone
he took the last train out of this dried up town and left you here to wilt away with it
understand that what you miss is only the embellished memories of someone you used to know
but he has changed since then- and you can grow without his nourishment

people see what they want to see
and maybe it’s a weakness you’ve grown out of
maybe it’s a past you’ve shed like second skin
people will hold on to things you’ve let go of
so you’ve got to love yourself
enough to make up for the ones who spite you
enough to tell yourself you’ve done a good job
when your head hits the pillow at night
people will say things intended to cut you and leave you with open wounds
you are not the mistakes you’ve made-
do not let them convince you otherwise

It's a cliche, the way past lovers always come back around
as if it's written on my skin that I tend to forgive more freely than I should
as though they are checking in just to see if I'm still waiting
hours, days, months spent shoving their name down my throat
to convince myself the ending was mutual
and then one day, long after the waiting turned into progressing
they have the audacity
to ask if I'm still anticipating their realization that they 'loved me all along'
to ask if I still want them, because suddenly they feel alone
suddenly they need me
but I am taking every step in the opposite direction of you
I am worth more than a second-thought, than the regret you feel from walking away