i have not seen you today-
nor yesterday-
nor the day before that-
and so on.
i have not seen you in several days and
yet i can not stop thinking about your voice.
i hear you in books
and the way the rain falls on my lips
and with every step i take through a puddle--
i hear your muddled voice praying through the hot summer
for me to stay alive just one more day.

you did not know wether i would stay or if i would go.
but, if i were to tell you that i only stayed for you,
would you have loved me back in time?

maybe all of those prayers were wishes
and those wishes were thoughts
and those thoughts were nothing.

i am sorry for having villainized you.
let me say this first:
i am so sorry for the pain i caused you.

i am also sorry for the grit
and rough
and mess you saw in
my skin. i am sorry
that i let it matter to me
that you saw these things.
i am sorry that i let you
make me feel like the
skin that i was writhing in,
that i was trying on
and tailoring (am still
tailoring) to fit me correctly
was somehow *****, somehow
not so clean. somehow covered in
the hands of too many boys
who made me unpure.
who you believed
somehow stole my
virtue with their kiss.
(like they would be so powerful
as to **** it from my lips)
i am sorry that you believed
that this caused such a gaping
space between us that we could
no longer lie next to each other.

the truth is,
i miss you somedays.

it makes me ache to know
that you missed my first
love. you missed his smile
and his stupid decisions,
and the effect he had on me.
you missed the way he brought
my mind to a lull.
my whole body to a
present moment.
you missed the disappointment,
the pain, the deep and crushing
heartbreak.
you missed the day he said goodbye.
you missed me picking up
the parts of myself i didn't
know existed in such a way
that they could fall apart.

i had seen you through that all
and you will only know of mine
through what i will tell you.

i am sorry to have hurt you.
to have lost you.
i was shedding skin and so were you.

*january/27/2014/12:23 A.M.

everything about you is a poem,
and i'll never quit writing it.
from your raven gloss hair,
to your eyes that hold the colors of forest trees,
with their heads dipped in a halo of warm, golden sunlight.
your skin is winter,
****** snow, and your lips are a timid cherry blossom blooming
to meet mine,
and i'll part them gently;
wrapping ourselves in an eternity of spring,
new beginnings and awakenings.

i wanted to say "i love you" last night (more than once)

but you are fading, i am opaque
and words will slip through you
like water in butterfly nets