Love is turning the lights on then off again.
Love is polishing the knives and forks and spoons.
Love is wishing you were there, not here.
Love is pushing doors open and gently closing them.
Love is friendship set to music.
Love is youthful springtime.
Love is ripped stockings and black lace.
Love is blue highlighter on your cheek.
Love is old comic books collecting dust.
Love is silent exhales.
Love is, love is, love is...

a hundred lines written
a thousand words dedicated
all these writes i made
all for other people
makes me wonder
when will someone
write poetry for me

Your presence seeped into every aspect of my life,
leaving memories behind
that seems to haunt me like tidal waves;
but I am no swimmer,
and my emotions drowns me.

I see you everywhere,
the memories of you is always on replay,
but the stop button is broken
and I am forced to watch it.

But that's what you are now,
just memories.

So as I walk alone at the path going home
that you and I used to take,
my loneliness tries to overwrite our moments together.

But my presence cannot overpower yours,
because you have imprinted yourself in every aspect of me.

You were part of my definition,
and now I'm simply a part of an explanation that used to be whole.