I could never tell you
exactly what's going on inside my head,
so I'll write instead.
Drown my thoughts in paper & lead.
Keep my hands alive,
and my expression dead.

It's not that I don't love you. It's the time I read my mom's old journals and every other paragraph included my fathers name. It's that he cheated on every girlfriend he had with my mom. It's that my mom didn't care she was a second choice or a one night stand. It's that my mother never talked to anyone about him after he got married to one of the many girlfriends. It's that she took twenty sleeping pills on the night of what would've been their anniversary. It's that he doesn't even know she's dead.

It's not that I don't love you. It's the couple I overheard in the bread aisle arguing over wheat or white. It's that I heard the woman say a lot of "she" and "****" and I saw her crumble to the ground. It's that he just shook his head and said he was sorry over and over again.

It's not that I don't love you. It's that my best friend is in love with a boy on the other side of the country. It's the morning she took a shower and cried over him. It's that he wasn't even awake to do anything about it. It's that he's always three hours behind and thousands too many miles away. It's that I mean both physically and mentally sometimes.

It's not that I don't love you. It's my geometry teacher, who brought up her husband when she taught me tangents. It's that she also brought up her husband when she taught me the circle unit
too. It's that she gets quiet and smiles after she talks about him. It's that he's been passed away for seven years now and she still has so much to say. It's that she still wears her wedding ring. It's that when she taught me special right triangles, I wondered what her laugh might sound like if he were still here.

What I'm trying to say is; It's not that I don't love you. It's that I do.

I just want
to see how
beautiful
you truly are,
far from what
you see you
see in the
mirror,
for now,
look away
from the
world,
our fingers
gently trace,
softly, the sun
paints light
upon your
golden skin,
hold me closer,
your sweater
Is softer than
cashmere,
and palms
caress
as the sun
rises from
the sea, and
all turns to
watercolor,
these eyes
are special
to me, as
they hold
the secrets
of your heart
I will hold
as it whispers,
"for you,
I am a soul
deeply
in love,
wishing
upon a star
among
thousands,
waiting for
your arms
to open my
petals,
I know what
those shining
eyes are hiding,
they are closely
holding a love
greater than
time, I have been
waiting for you,
I want you to know,
you are the
beautiful one
who will be the
sunshine to my
rain, the warmth
I seek to reside
In forever, and
the breathe
of the rose
I wish to
become".

I like your stupid tattoo
and your ****** piercing
that you got with the boys
in Magaluf
the way you can't spin decks
but you keep trying anyway
your stupid, beautiful laugh

your stories
like the time you stressed out in Ibiza
or blacked out for hours at
the same gig I did
before we'd even met

I'm freaking
I'm 3AM not sleeping
I've never liked someone
that cared about me
I've never met anyone who suits me like you do

I'm desperate to run
you're gripping me by the forearm
as soon as you let go I'm gone
terrified, rabbit in headlights
I want to not be afraid
the lessons I've learnt still haunt me

How can I cast them aside
wash the slate clean
I want to believe that you want me
How can I? Help me, darling
teach me
how can I?

Tell me about the person who broke your heart.
Tell me about the color of their eyes.
How their hair felt in between your fingers.
Tell me about the rhythm of their heart.
Tell me about the last words they said to you and how they took every last breath out of you.
Tell me about all the places you used to go to with them, and how when you went for the first time without them all you saw was ghosts.
Tell me about the ache in your bones when you see them in your dreams and how it lasts years
months
days.