The world spun too fast for
me to cling on to the sides;
My knuckles had grown
pale and stiff for trying.

And your hair always flew easily in the wind like something out if an old indie movie.

Your crooked smile was so much more that a poetic cliche.

I want you to know I am sorry and I think I did once love you.

Some of us are meant for this.
Some are meant to suffer,
And would be too scared to thrive.