the world we're in is made
for the silence between your words
now filled with goodbyes, un-lingering;
it is made for you,
breaking my heart in ways
poetry can never beautify.
it is made for the
goodnights never said
and your sneakers,
now missing from the shoe rack
and the last scents of your perfume
on the blanket you left behind.

but in a perfect world
beyond the black hole we're in,
your playlist is still my voice
saying i love yous in a loop.
in a perfect world,
the paper roses still bookmark
our favorite pages;
the side of your eyes still wrinkle
at the sound of my name;
we still live for the 5 am silence
mixed with regular coffee sips
and empty streets
and eye contacts
and that was our kind
of making love.

in a perfect world,
i still read you limericks
and you still annoy me
with your terrible puns
and we still tackle each other in bed
and it still leads to snuggling up,
and never to empty stares
and heartbeats that have
started beating backwards.

in a perfect world,
i'll never run out of metaphors
to write another poem for you,
the way you run out
of love for me.
in a perfect world,
you'll never slip out of my hands
the way my hair
has slipped out of yours.

in a perfect world,
i won't have to write this poem, darling

cause in a perfect world,
i never would have lost you.
in a perfect world,
you've never left at all.
your smile's still there when i wake up;
i'm still your cliche
"girl who feels like sunsets in a winter",
and i'm still
the one you love.