I could stare into his eyes for hours.
"How funny it is," I thought as I stared into this boy's eyes.
He was once mine, but it wasn't until a year after that I noted how inviting and drawing they were, and with one gaze, it was as if I was hooked all over again.
But he was no longer mine.

His lips. His scent. The scar on his brow.
I memorized it all.

But he was no longer mine.
Walking into his room was so foreign yet so familiar.
The posters scattered on the wall,
The corners of his mouth and the way he pressed his lips against mine. They weren't mine.
But he was no longer mine.

And I loved this boy.
I didn't love him when I could call him mine.

Now, I do.
I love the way he loses himself into a song,
the way he draws his fingers against every inch of me,
the way he's so closed off,
the way he can make me feel the way I do,
But he is no longer mine.