It was quick, fleeting, and will always be remembered,
It filled this inner void I had, but left me dismembered,
It was a feeling I craved, The one I lusted after,
For what it’s worth it wasn’t the worst or some kind of ultra disaster,
It hasn’t hurt anyone, well I’m sure she wishes she could forget faster,
But I will never forget this page out of a dangerous chapter,
It has my favorite quote,
My favorite hope,
My favorite thought about getting lost and experiencing a desire to cope,
There won’t be days in february where she gets flowers,
There won’t be strollers, weird reunions or baby showers,
There won’t be scrapbooks, letters, or home made meals to devour,
There will be sleepless nights and well spent hours,
She may not want a relationship but she made me feel love when I needed it most,
I want to feel pressure from her fingertip but have to settle for thoughts of when they were close,
Was it a make up - make out it sure didn’t feel that way?
Was it a wake up call if so it didn’t work out that way,
I feel like it was the perfect decoration,
The way we locked into the perfect formation,
Cliche poems written about how it was salvation,
Are my summation or translation
Of working out the equation,
That being real... I was thirsty and needed ******* hydration,
But you love me,
Well that feels really nice.
I spent hours up late trying to figure out if you did,
Thought about the small stupid things I should change about the way I live,
This is where I should say I love you and I would never lie,
But rather, the us line would be about our *** drive,
The back of a van, folded down seats, Ed Sheeran playing through the night,
Funny how I always write about a memory,
It’s like I wait for the right day to listen to the words of this inner me,
Wait for the right time to reignite our synergy,
Moments with little action, a lot of adrenaline pumping into energy,
Promises to make sure we aren’t alone when we are elderly
Speaking in private, I want to talk to you really but it always becomes generally,
Except for those nights with sand and stars I remember so tenderly,
Flashes of what could never be,
But is that the truth. I don’t ******* think so.
I don’t think that is the case,
I think with a little faith the sixth could live to the eighth,
And the eighth could go on further into time and space,
Sure we would have less patience, less “nice” lies, less grace,
But I feel the embrace was a showcase for what could take place,
I don’t want breathing space let alone breathing room,
This isn’t a proposal, I’m not asking to be a groom,
This isn’t a disposal of throwing away what is now to doom,
But without being boastful, We would’ve been the perfect match and epic in the bedroom.
I have no idea what this piece is supposed to mean I just knew I needed to write it,
Kinda like I knew I should’ve kept my hands to myself but I didn’t fight it,
I think back to sand filled jackets and wondering if that was the night I should’ve quit,
But I never gave up even though now I understand that marked under ridiculous never-happenings is the fact we might kiss,
It’s fine, Playing pretend,
Waiting for your mind and my heart to mend,
Like a accidental picture you didn’t mean to send,
Or a series to finish so you can finally place the bookend,
Or a lousy boyfriend, Hey I know a guy,
Who would wake up in the middle of the night head in the sky,
His “life story” slowly becoming a long lie,
Nearly sweating to death feeling choked by his bowtie,
At the tournaments where you seemed preoccupied,
There were those special moments where we locked eyes,
But honestly I don’t know how to feel anymore.
I don’t know what to say.
I don’t know what to write.
I don’t know what we are.
I need to hear your opinion, your thoughts formed into words,
I need to hear which one of my thoughts you thinks hold worth,
I need to hear your laugh and tell me which are stupid,
To quit acting like a love struck kid,
Tell me to grow up, shut up, relax,
Get out of being lost but how can I without the map?
Cliche as ****.
It’s what happens when you spend all night writing trying to find the words to say to you only to delete them over and over again until you get to the point when you start writing so much and you just want to flood out all the emotions until you have nothing left so you can finally fall asleep only to have those dreams be fantasies and burn into night terrors full of hate and swearing and ….
Me without you.