Unwillingly,
I will spend the rest of my life
looking for something that cannot me found.

The way you never cease to smile,
the way your nose wrinkles when you're confused,
or the way you grip my hair when you
fold me into your arms,
and laugh to hard,
and get too close for comfort,
and manage to brighten a room
without doing a thing,
and never understanding the use of a semi-colon.
Or, how you could never seem
to write your sentences correctly
and end up rambling on and on
until I can hear your thoughts through cold lips.

Can I just say,
I will spend the rest of my life,
hoping to find another you.

But maybe,
just maybe,
he comes back,
and everything is for the better.
Late nights, between flights,
early mornings between shifts,
and mid-afternoon talks about comic books.
Maybe he comes back,
and maybe we're okay.

Maybe he never left
and he still loves me.
Maybe he wants to be with me,
no matter the distance,
years, or people
telling me otherwise.

Maybe,
just maybe,
he's still mine.

It would be an honour
to have my heart broken by you.
Tell me you miss me,
and I will bleed every promise you've carved into my smile.
You were never really mine,
so tell me why the **** losing you hurt so much.

You were never good with words.
I didn't realize that what you meant was
you could never say something you actually meant.
I get it now-you were never good with the truth.

I see the stars in your eyes
and the universe in your smile.
I wish I understood
the secret of the galaxies,
just so I could understand how someone
could make me feel this way.

More often than sometimes I'd like to know
how it would feel to see the world from up high.
A hot-air balloon stuck in the sky,
but not because it's broken or the wind isn't right,
but because in the sky
it is limitless; about the red skies and black lies of the realm below.
Is it a blessing or a curse,
a truth or a lie?
The sky in its deception,
the balloon flies high.