i think about all the times i just wanted to grab her face and kiss her and i didn't. i was scared to.
i think about what ifs and could've beens that keep me tossing and turning like the insomniac i am.
but the love i felt for her was something different, something that was real. i loved her. no. i love her now, even some odd two hundred miles apart from her, i still love her.
my heart skips a beat when i say her name out loud to myself, so i say it often, and proudly, because what we had was real and nobody can or will take it away from me.
i think about how i heard one time in a movie that the skin on your lips regenerates every two weeks and though i dont know if its true, its been more than two weeks and maybe my lips have forgotten her but i sure as hell havent.
i don't want to.
and its been said before in an obscure poem that if [she] spoke that insomnia might loosen its wholesome grip on my throat, and honestly i feel the same about her.
but maybe it is time to move on now
two, other things i constantly say i'm okay with dying when in reality i am very afraid to die. mostly because i'm not sure i've done everything in this life that i can. maybe what i really want is to just not exist for a while.
and i think about how i have these memories of running into rose bushes on bicycles and staying up all night talking to strangers in houses not my own.
i can still feel the pain from the first time my heart broke. it healed and left a scar, and was ripped apart at the seams when i moved.
and then that one memory resurfaces and i want to break down and cry and all i can think or say is "i'm sorry" repeated like a broken record.