I don’t have the right to miss you,
because you were never actually mine.
You were just a passing day,
a place and a time.
Your eyes burned through my skin worse than
the sun does in mid-July.
Your fingertips lightly imprinted my neck
and lit me up brighter than the early summer fireflies.
But this thing we built collided into nonexistence
when the cold came.
Because without the heat I was now nothing,
but a lifeless flame.
Soot covered branches, burnt and cracked.
All I felt was tears, when all I wanted to hear
was your laugh.

But I didn’t just lose you,
I lost all of the best parts of myself, too.

You had taken my warm June heart and
somehow turned it into a January afternoon.
I yearned to be painted a shimmering gold,
no longer a toneless blue.
So I started caring for myself the way
I used to care about you.
I tried my hardest to scrub my wine stained soul clean.
I woke up, realizing there’s so much life to live,
I was only nineteen.
The seasons changed and so did my mind,
and I finally felt myself let you go,
after all this **** time.