"I wish you well."
                                                          ­                    



                                         ­                                     (but not too well without me)

I am not suicidal.
But life has lost all meaning.
While I may not go looking
for Death's hands,
if He found me,
and wrapped his fingers around mine
I think I just might
fall
     in
          love.

I. The first time I found the bag of needles and powder in her backpack I left and said I would never come back but she found me sleeping in the cemetery that night just like I always did when things were bad especially at home. I said a lot of times that I would never come back and I always did. She said a lot of times that she would stop and she never did. I still remember every plane of her face from feeling it in the dark. I wonder if she's okay but I can't care anymore.

II. I liked how she felt in bed and I liked how I felt in bed with her.

III. She called me at 4am a few times and talked to me so quickly I only caught half the words she was speaking and I couldn't stop smiling but when we hung up the room felt much emptier than before.

IV. The gun looks absolutely nothing like a toy in her hand despite what I always read. I wonder where she got it but my mind is more focused on other things like the slick chill of the metal against my face and her carefully painted lips very close to mine. I'm torn between staying perfectly still and trying to kiss her and while I try to decide she takes off the safety. It is at this exact moment that I realize how unstable she is and I know I've never been able to predict her actions, only her lies. I have no idea what she might do next and I love her.

He said I would never forget
the taste of his name
on my lips,

the soft sound of his breath
against my irregular heart
beat

he told me, the first thing
about love was to find the
right cadence of their name
in your mouth,

it was more important than
the brush of fingertips on
naked skin,

hungrier than
the touch of lips on lips,

needier than a thousand goodnights.

My tongue fitted the shape of it,
somehow, and I know a name
by any other rose would taste
bitter, like unsweetened lemonade

and our goodbyes would be the same, passionless, less urgent,
asserting that I would never
forget the taste of my first
love's name on my lips

You’re not going to be a girl who’s in the same situation I am. You’re not going to be a girl who’s been single her whole life. You’re not going to be a girl who’s continually falling in love with someone who’s already taken. You’re not going to be a girl losing hope.

You’re going to be a girl who’s been in multiple relationships. A girl who may even be in a current relationship. You’re going to be a girl who’s grown from your past relationships. You’re going to be a girl who’s not looking for me.

m
When we do meet, I’ll be the boy who’s always dreamed about having a relationship. I’ll be the boy who’s only experienced relationships through watching movies. I’ll be the boy wanting to hold you in my arms every chance that I get. I’ll be the boy who’s patiently waited for the opportunity to say the words “I love you.” I’ll be the boy who ends up being your last boyfriend.

Love,

Me