i cry for the day when i see him again. when years have passed and babies have grown. when trees have fallen and our songs have long been unsung. when memories are fading and numbness consumes us. i cry because i know time will not preserve us. and in that moment, every thread of myself will come undone. all the work i've put into forgetting him will disappear from my mind. i cry because i know i'll see him- his soft blue eyes, dimples, dark curly hair, broad shoulders, imperfect teeth, boundless smile, deep smile creases- and i'll fall in love with him all over again.
i cry for when he does not love me back, again. when he'll turn towards his beautiful girl, a tiny blonde with a brilliant smile, and love her like you read about. the kind of love poets and artists alike have been feeding off of, manipulating into art, for centuries.
and i'll cry for years, decades, wasting away as the salt water erodes me.
because when you're really in love, you can never get out.

beautiful things
are always the problem
beautiful people
always turn out so rotten

my poetry is never ******* good my words are never eloquent enough to fill the page with cursive my hands are lost on keys who to please that's a good question you want generic material so readers can relate so the kids of heartbreak can know where to put their hate and love and fear all online so they can hide behind a screen and scream and scream without disrupting their parents next door and the floor will start to shudder under the weight of the words but you don't notice because your world has always been this way has always been a mess of things not eloquent enough to fill the page with cursive and your hands have always been lost on keys so what's the difference

i would do anything
to be stabbed in the heart,
again,
by you.
because it'd bleed
so beautifully,
again,
from you

i thought i was okay
writing showed me i was not

or maybe
writing about you
destroyed my every thought