"why would you spend your time writing about the things you are trying to forget"*

which is what im trying to figure out;
if im actually trying,
or just going through the
motions of "trying."

every thought of you consumes me
and the smell that lingers on your body still hangs around between the sheets where you laid,
unwelcomed.
all i can think about is your ******* fingertips and how you touched my cheek before you left,
telling me it was okay,
when in reality, it never was,
nor will it ever be.

oh but how i loved your sweet lies of
"one day..."
"one day it will be better"*
though it seemed as if better
went on a vacation and
never planned on returning home.