The boy with the frat tattoos
calls me again,
to tell me he still loves me.
He always will.
The annual surrender
to his overly wasted heart.
Tells me he's never met a girl
with so many secrets,
a girl with so many different lives.
He reminds me that no one will ever understand
the way my eyes turn grey when I'm sad,
or deep blue when I'm angry.
Asks if I'm still as angry as I was,
back when he used to show up
at 3am,
to my unlocked door.
He tells me he knows what I'm thinking
in pictures that he sees,
based solely on the colors of my irises.
Says he knows me,
Because he always knew me,
despite all the secrets,
despite all the lives.
He says loving me was like
trying to survive a hurricane.
And knowing me was like
attempting to choose what to save
while your home went up in flames.
But he loved me.
He says.
He'll always love me.
And I let him talk for a while
about the good times.
until I can hear him getting tired,
and the tequila setting in.
I wait until he starts to get quiet,
starts to tell me that he had to let me leave
because loving me was too exhausting.
Because I refused to let him in.
Because my skin was too thick,
and my eyes were too cold,
too much of the time..
It is then,
when he gets quiet,
that I remind him that there were no good times.
I was angry for reasons,
that I never told him,
because he never asked.
Because for all the 3ams,
and all the unlocked doors,
he never stayed long enough to appreciate
that I had let him in.
And he weeps.
Quietly,
so that he thinks I don't know.
Tells me he hopes that one day I stop spinning,
"One day,"
he says,
"I hope the sky that is your soul finally clears."
before hanging up for another year.
But he always knew I was a hurricane
and you can't tame a storm.

So what the **** did he expect?