I still remember how I felt laying on my mothers' bed
eating a whole gallon of blue bell vanilla
crying into it, remembering all the times I'd been afraid
and tired, and 3 in the morning on the couch
searching for something on my hand, a scratch
on the phone on a bridge, playing with a stick
while you said, "little do they know", calling myself
a ******, feeling my heart bloom in my chest,
a little girl rode by and asked if I was talking to my boyfriend
no, I said, I love you, I said, on the phone and you
saw me the next morning and I still remember
the dull lightning in your eyes that flashed bronze
I am grateful, I am grateful for you
and the raw smell of a sneeze while it rained and I tried
to forget the spikes and sparks I felt when I saw you
how they smoothed before me when I held you,
when I ran and I screamed because I thought a certain
amount of air in my lungs held traces of you
and if I just shouted loud enough I could expel you,
there would be nothing left, and as my feet tumbled down
the hill and my body exhilarated with my best of friends
I still could not forget that my eyes would never see you again
I still cannot forget that my eyes will never see you again.