August 5, 2015
How long do I have to look at the sky before I see a shooting star? Do you know I would wish for you to come home.

August 6, 2015
Today it rained in my living room; the couches are soaked. Maybe the rain cloud is just following me around. I didn't want to stay in my room anymore, a place you once laid your head.

August 7, 2015
I've made myself a promise: not to call until I have written at least three poems worthy enough to be heard by you.

August 8, 2015
If I master the art of cooking french toast would you come back over and sleep until breakfast?

August 9, 2015
The box sitting across the room from me that I have packed all of your things in nicely laughs at me whenever I look at it.

August 10, 2015
I read your horoscope to see how you're doing.

August 11, 2015
It's 2 AM and poetry dances through my pen. Every line has something to do with your nose.

August 12, 2015
When will I be able to start writing about your chapped lips and tender kisses again? When can I make up short songs and sing them softly into your ear as you laugh. When can I write about something other than my heart deflating a little more every time I think of you kissing my knuckles.

August 13, 2015
When people ask me about you, my tongue forgets how to say your name.

August 14, 2015
Today is the day I would have wished us a happy twenty month anniversary. I would have told you "sorry," even if none of this ever happened.

August 15, 2015
I've been sleeping on the floor at the foot of my mom's bed. I still hear echoes of our laughter in my room and I hate to feel alone enough to think of when we were happy.