The truth is, though;
I will always have leftover feelings for you...
And you, and you, and you.
I put so much of myself into the time I had with you-
That when the end came near-
I had to leave a piece of myself with you so I'd never have to carry it around with me.
And that is why:
My mind always wanders back around...
At some point, random memories sneak in.
At some point, I remember what it felt just lay next to you.
At some point, I think back to giggling along to the jokes we told.
And each moment I fall all over for you, even if for a few seconds.
That is why I will always have leftover feelings for you.
It’s not always that I’m reminded of the fun we had
Only sometimes when I let myself go
Deep into my memories, most have faded away
But a few remain
Some arguments, lots of jokes and laughs, a few nights in tears
And all that’s fine
It’s just the less I know of you now the more it all seems faked
Is my mind playing another trick on me
Or is that just you
Again, I fall deep into my memories
Why do you block the exit?
I only write letters to you when the leaves change colors,
My mood starts to bend as the winter wind blows in.
The gardens are wilting but I'm steadily growing,
Rising higher as the sunset comes earlier.
Do you think the snow will come this year?
Will it feel like home used to?
Upwards on the map where winter is a battle between the sun and the moon;
Winds chill bones, rattle teeth, and shake hands.
Will the paved streets sparkle with ice as the midnight hour creeps across the sky?
Think of me when you sit by the bonfires
Friends will laugh along and music will dance in the smoke,
But will it still feel like fall without me there?
Nostalgia crashed head on-
Its headlights seared into my eyes and blinded me as I drove 80 down the rainy highway.
The roads have always been in this same spot,
But 3 months ago my stomach didn't flip and flutter as I rounded each corner
Every sign didn't glow as bright red as they do right now,
And the letters STOP seem to mean something more than a sturdy press on the brakes.
These streets look different from behind a steering wheel..
Do I miss sitting on the passenger side, legs crisscrossed on the seat, staring out the window at the stretch of nothing
Or do I miss the one who always drove the car-
Route memorized, something I could never catch the hang of,
I always miss this exit, he never thought twice about which one it was.
I wonder if I can race nostalgia past the stop lights,
Fly by when it flashes neon green-
It's all meant to be left in the past anyways.
I can’t shake the feeling that we are not
Like I’ve been writing a story, but can’t type the
Conversation with you is short, and mostly
By your spacious replying and conversation
One part of me wants nothing left to do with you,
While another begs you to pick up the phone so I can hear hello.
One part of me wants to delete your number and text threads,
While another adds an extra heart by your name and changes the pictures.
One part of me wants to give the other guy a chance,
While another feels guilty since there was no proper ending.
Letting go seemed easy while I wrote it all out
But then came time to conclude this poem
You're never available anymore
and plans are cancelled before confirmed
I want you around like you were last year
But, I've marked my calendar and you're not here.
Strange- how you have changed
Given 365 days and I'm not sure you're the same.
Yes, I'm happy you've grown- sculpted yourself,
And there's no denying I've changed too,
But you put me on a shelf.
Yet, you still hold onto me
I'm unsure of what you're going to do
We're becoming new people- do you agree
I'm keeping a tight hold on something involving you
Let's just cut the connection to start progressing
Find where we should be.
please tell me i'm not right.
Meant for more from birth
Carried in satin like a god
I do not envy you
When I succeed it is a surprise
Something met with pride
Due to lack of expectation
The Underdog Advantage
When you succeed it is anticipated
Should have been more
Greater in size and worth
Living up to your destiny
I do not envy your
In this great race
The start line may begin
With varied handicaps
But the finish line is in turn
I do not believe in Royal Design
We are all nothing to begin with
Nothing simply looks different depending on
Where you're standing.