i wrote you a note in the margins of a piece of loose leaf paper crumpled from indecisiveness nervous hands unfolding, folding scribbled static and meaningless metaphors. i wrote until the taste of your name left my mouth and i bled you out into every letter that i traced.
now you are more than tired eyes and bruised knees. you are more than scattered pieces, and the stardust we had shooting through our veins
but something more permanent keeping these naked moments tucked between my lungs and behind my eyes and within words that you will never read.