I remember how your touch traveled the valleys of my skin. How you held on so tight and  how easily you've slipped through my fingers. How i've let this happen. Each night i suffer. Aching for your words. Dying for your unfinished poetry about the first girl you've ever loved. How i was that girl. Now, your words speak of how thirsty you are for your new love. Each word you dedicate to her is a dagger. Stabbing its way through my chest, killing what was ever left inside me. I cry through my flesh that you've slit open with your razor sharp tongue. My blood are tears. I learned how to scream myself mute with my lips completely shut. My voice started to sound like a symphony. Each promise you've said that were never done served as a note played by this dismantled orchestra. You were never mine. But it felt like i always did. We were a collection of could have beens. We were just something that had potential but wasnt good enough to work. We were something. We were almost something.