I guess
all I ever really wanted
was to be symbolic of something
equal parts happiness and freedom
like the way your flesh lept as your heartbeat slowed inside your chest
as you held her hand
and how my blood turned thick
and cold at the sight of her lips
on your cheek and her smile at
your laughter

I want to tell her that
on the second of September
I kissed you so hard I swore
my lips would have fallen off
had it not been for the way
your voice seemed
to stitch up all the breaking
parts of me

and I wonder if shes seen
the inside of your bedroom yet
where the walls watched us talk and
the windows saw us whisper
midnight secrets

I bet she doesn't even write poetry
about the way you blink when you think
of something good to say or how your shirt wrinkles as you breathe and if she doesn't count your heartbeats before you fall asleep I don't know how I'll live with myself knowing that I lost you to someone who symbolizes happiness with inanimate objects like dog houses and swing sets or white picket  fences and NOT THE WAY YOUR LIPS MOVE WHEN YOU SAY I LOVE YOU OR HOW YOUR VOICE CRACKS AS YOU APOLOGIZE

I don't know how to end this without crying and trying to tell myself that happiness does not only exist
in your kisses
and this is
the closest I'll ever come
to saying I love you
again