Today is a Tuesday but to me it feels like Sunday evening
and every day feels like the day you left.
It's raining, and it fits my mood.
If you were here you'd tell me to smile, but what good is smiling
if you're not here to return it with your own?
I never really understood heartbreak until I gave you my heart.
Because I guess I forgot to mark it with "return to sender".
Unless you just wanted to keep it for yourself.
For all I know you could collect girls' hearts like
you collected the vinyl you couldn't play
because you didn't even have a record player.
I got a call from your mom last week.
She said she missed me, and then she told me the news.
I guess I should have seen it coming.
But like everything, I put too much faith in the universe.
I never thought that it would really take you away.
I miss you like it was yesterday but I was lying before.
It wasn't last week that I got the call,
it will be four years in the fall.
And everyday feels like the day you left.
Sleep sweetly.

If you see her again before I do, tell her the way she left left me shaking like a winter windchime;
the song too frozen to melt on her tongue.
I am scared of all her moving on.
The only serious love poems I write are about the same person who hides God in her hair and shows me the lingerie she bought while I try to unfog my glasses to look at her straight.
I am too convinced that she is made up of lines that lead straight to my firework skin. There has been too many explosions here.
The only way to deal with missing you is to tell you and wait and see if you feel the same. Or novacane.
I imagine you taste like an acid trip... all conspiracy theories and sugary words too sober to ever speak.
If you see her again before I do, tell her that I am a mess without her.  That my mind only settles with her tear-stained cheeks and the only way I can see the ocean in the winter in Canada is to look into her eyes.
I am scared that I am being overdramatic.
I want to rub our wrists together so we can trade scars.
Tell me the story of how you met your best friend and I'll tell you the story of how I fell out of loving my mother.
I would rather listen to you ramble than check the time.
If you see her again before I do, tell her that on the way home from her arms I counted 1200 streetlamps, 13 lovers, 3 liquor stores and 72 shakes of my knees.
Tell her I miss her like Frances misses Kurt.  Like dive bars miss blues music.
When I see you again, lover, I'll tell you that when you told me your name two years ago, I was surprised that it wasn't Love.

The mind it races
It shapes and fools
But it races the heart

The heart will rule

If I am to fall
Let me fall hard
Let me hit the ground and shatter myself

But If I am to fly
Don't cut my wings
Let me be free
Let me see from the sky
Way Up High