you sent me a love letter, a message in a bottle but when i cracked it open i cut up my hands. i guess i’m the same way; i wrote you a love song but i forgot i didn’t know how to sing, so i yelled the words at your window like i was flinging pebbles and you told me to put down my boombox because i was going to wake up the whole **** neighborhood with my teenage angst, my painfully naive i love you-s. i think my heart is too loud for suburb lawns and white picket fences. and i guess that’s the trouble with us; we were always controlled chaos, a dormant volcano and all the kids counted down to the eruption like they were waiting for the other shoe to drop and numbered their calendars for a date that should’ve been on a unmarked grave. and we’ve just got short fuses, kisses and bruises because when someone is the pin to your grenade when someone is the oil spill to your wildfire you’ve always got to be wary of explosions. and we were always going to ***** each other over, we were always going to burn too bright, burn out too fast. because i was just a pretty girl in a sundress, and this is just a memory you’ve been trying to repress hand clenched in the fabric of us, so determined to not let the inevitable happen on schedule. and i love you so i’ll ruin you, it’s inevitable and i love you so you’ll leave, it’s inevitable and i love you so it’s not going to work out like i want it to. it’s just... inevitable. there’s no avoiding it the future unless you take your own away. sometimes i have to remind myself five times a day that destruction, that implosion, that falling apart isn’t as poetic as i think it is. and now, i’m biting my tongue to keep from saying baby, bring home the wreckage maybe there’s still something there for us to salvage and if we're a sinking ship, i'll go down with you and if we’re doomed, i’ll be ****** with you. because i’m still thinking there’s an off chance, because i’m still thinking that maybe if you still... i’m still thinking that all this time i was just wishing on the wrong star and there’s still a chance, there’s still wishes to waste and coins to throw in the fountain and eyelashes to count on. but you know somebody once told me that the stars aren’t really there, we’re just seeing footprints of where they used to be. we’re always looking a galactic graveyard, a sky littered with the star-studded remains of supernovas. always thought you were more of a black hole than a star, but maybe there’s some truth to every cliche; i see everywhere you used to be clearly, i can see your presence in every absence. because i miss you terribly and i know i’m not supposed to. but i still wonder what you’re thinking about sometimes. i still wonder about the stars you’re looking at sometimes. i still wonder if we see the same constellations anymore.