I still love him, you know? and you know what else, it ***** because you don't know. he doesn't know or maybe he just doesn't care anymore but I still love him or maybe I never stopped and maybe I never will. it ***** because your name still sits between my lips at night and I can feel your skin dancing on my finger tips. I remember how warm your flesh once was, so much as it eliminated any need for a blanket or a sweater. it still blows my mind into a million different dazed and confused pieces that you're no longer waiting for me when I wake up in the morning with a kiss and two cups of coffee. I still love him. my sketches are starting to resemble the constellation of freckles that are scattered along his jawline. its funny how you never really realize how empty things like your hands and your heart can feel until you lose the thing you used to fill them with. love is a funny thing. I still love him. but what does that even mean when I can't spend every second I'm given spreading kisses along his skin like wildfire or counting his heartbeats or feeling him breathe? does she kiss you where the sun doesn't shine and take the breath away from your lips? does she know that you sleep on the left side of the bed and your heart beats two hundred and twenty seven times before you fall asleep. I still love him. the birds still sing and the sky still dims and the earth still spins, and I still love him.