if I can't miss you, the least I can do is miss the way it felt to know that you were mine (even if you weren't, not really). I remember watching you fall apart, a familiar road of self destruction that you drove me down too many times to count. you were so devoid of life that I couldn't ever figure out what you felt was worth it. if you felt anything was worth it.

sometimes, when your fist would find a home tangled in my hair, with my body pressed against the mirror, our breaths fogging up the glass, I'd forget that your fragile heart felt no purpose.

it was so easy to lose myself in our clashing tongues and teeth because the distraction was easier than the realization. it was the bruises on my hips that told me how you felt. you told me that you loved me through your fingertips. through tight grips and shaky hands.

I lost my shirt in the backseat of your car one night because you couldn't wait to sneak into your brothers house. sometimes you would touch me like I was a porcelain doll but most nights it was a fast blur of disaster. like a look inside of your mind.

“we're okay, it's okay, we're okay, I'm okay,” I never really knew whether you breathed out those words for me or for yourself. something about false reassurance.

I once found a song you wrote on the back of a sloppy page of notes titled Why Does My Heart Feel For Her and Only Her?

it was the following night that I stopped feeling my heart when I found bold messy lines through the lyrics. with my lip between your teeth I could only think of what you wrote beside the crossed out title.

THERE IS NO HEART AT ALL
(in neither of us)