I remember the first time you kissed me.
We had escaped the loud echoes of your drunk friends,
and left my too-sober roommates to wait for my return.
Your best friend ran up the stairs after I left,
I skipped down the street as the girls called after me, questioning.
I remember the smile that would not fade,
the one that gave all of the answers away.

I remember the second time you kissed me.
We drank too much wine and sat too close together
and told each other too many things.
You yelled at me to stop talking so much,
I asked you questions you pretended not to hear.
I remember the way you kept trying to leave,
but how you did not want to go.

I remember the third time you kissed me.
We got into a fight that you tried to fix
with an overnight stay in the room where we first kissed.
We didn't talk about the fight.
I told you things I'll never forget because I knew you'd never remember.
I remember the way you tried to kiss me in the morning,
and how I left, pretending I didn't know.

I remember the fourth time you kissed me.
That night, I realized we would only ever be friends
and then our hands kept touching, our legs intertwined.
You asked me to tell you everything and anything,
as you wrapped your arms around me.
I remember the way I could see you, looking at me,
out of the corner of my eye when I was too afraid to look at you.

I remember all of the times after when you kissed me.
Graduating to morning, then afternoon,
private to public, drunk to sober.
You kissed me for all reasons,
and no reason at all.
I remember the way you always smiled afterwards,
and how it always made me feel sure.

I remember the last time you kissed me.
It was too early in the morning for there to be time,
my eyes couldn't tell if the sun was awake.
I waited and waited for there to be another one,
but there wasn't.
I remember thinking of all the other kisses,
and knowing too deeply that this would be it.

the sky last night was a light burgundy
and its warmth reminded me of your embrace.

The oceans waves reminded me of how violent love can be

I still don't understand why the people you love the most, hurt you the most.

you write poems
about lost love,
broken hearts,
and failed redemption.

you write tragedies
about lonely nights,
crying minds,
and bleeding gashes of regret.

you write monologues
about voiceless mouths,
venomous words,
and inevitable decay.

you write autobiographies
about faded dreams,
unheard whispers,
and vanishing memories.

you write
about what once was.

and i do, too.

though i doubt your poems are about me
like mine are about you.

(a.m.)

The hardest part about
the end of a relationship
is knowing that
you don't love
the person you desperately wanted to

he took the blade on my skin and turned it into the pen on my paper

Moments like this I don't even care if you love me back. I have so much love spreading through my blood system demanding to come out. I have so much love inside me and if I don't give it away, it bursts my veins open and  gets my chest tight.
Sometimes at four am I think and think and I just want to love, and love so  desperately it hurts more than not loving at all.
I just want to kiss you all the time but I'd conform with loving you though, because I need to love and you're get me all dizzy and high and giddy with your smile. And if you let me just love you right, then I wouldn't be crying at 8:35 in the night with a bunch of emotions bubbling and longing to give and give and give until I had no more to give.