i wonder
what kind of pretty eyes made you see
how dead i was behind mine
i want to ask
how rosy were her cheeks to dismay you of the cold,pale skin that often met your touch
i want to know
how many milky white thighs,model thin legs, and baby soft knees displayed through high-waisted schoolgirl skirts did it take to quit me as your fetish
i want to hear
the joke that made you laugh, made you type the line you once wrote as mine: you have the humor i long for in a girl
and i probably already know all the bands she listens to,all the sad songs you'd bond over but i want to hear her playlist so i would know what to delete off of ours
i want to read all the poems she wrote so i could stop using the same words,the same forms, so i could stop writing about the same boy or maybe i could just stop writing altogether
tell me everything; the way her glasses frame her innocence,the way she gets giddy over odd things,the way she freaks about comic book and manga characters
i don't want to but i still need to see for myself
how she lights up the room,
how she is the still point of the turning world,how she is everything i used to be–only better
i want to
memorize her, as if she is the blueprint of a home I'll never be able to have,i need to keep her picture perfect existence inside my mind so i could stop choking on all the why's
i should know how good she is at making your problems disappear that i started fading into static too
and maybe you don't want to but you need to know
i get pushed out of my own head sometimes, trying to finish the image of your dream girl,trying to make the pieces fit just so i would know what pretty face,which delicate features, what humor, what magical creature did it take to make you see i was too human to be the girl you could love.
-W.