breathing in way to many fumes of unfinished poems, forgotten lovers. i miss you. 

i'm trying with everything in me to refrain from showering you in metaphors and similes. 
i'm trying to keep this pen from spewing truth about how i like my morning coffee black like my heart without you or like the beautiful color of your hair. 
i don't want to spew truth about how your every bit of the word serendipity how i became cathartic with you. how you come second to none to the sun. how every cloud of smoke blown out of my mouth at 12am reminds me of you after a few pills and how that's when i love you most 'cause that? that's where all the truth comes. i don't want to tell you about how the flower i passed on my walk the other day made me stop and think of you and me and the future we could have. i don't. 
 
i want to tell you the truth i want to tell you everything i feel without the metaphors, similes. i want to tell you what my heart feels without any attachment to anything else but you. i love you.

writers block. 
I'm sorry. 
q.m