Speaking of broken hearts
and singed photographs in the fireplace;
I met a boy and I am painting his skies with clementine and petal pink
against the bright canvas moon.

My heart is fairy floss clouds
and you are the ice crystals attempting to cause rain.
I know you're trying hard to win me back,
but you gave up citrus and sugar for the possible promise of a new hue.

Now you stain the ground with your tears.
The harshest and deepest feelings spill
from those blackened heartstrings.

Like all fruit, the sweetest rots first.
So I became wine.
I am the last of the blackberries,
holding onto memories of the summertime.

But it is autumn now.
Pears plop into pools,
leaves fall onto roofs,
and this 'getting over you' thing is not working.

I cannot bring myself to ask you the hardest questions:

did you ever love me?
you've been with me before, can you do it again?
will you break my heart?

love,
ali