i am so tired
and upset

i toss my keys in the bowl by the door
and she kisses me softly,
happy to see me always,
no matter what version she gets

she hums against my lips, curving her mouth up into a smile
and i feel the tiny vibrations of joy
make their way through my body

it's like she's reading me
and suddenly, she knows exactly what kind of day i had
and gives me exactly what i need
and i know exactly how much i love her

and it is so much
and she is so good

the way my body just gives into my bed
i sigh into my pillow
it is exhausting
to think about you so much

and it just doesn't stop
because i know i will dream about you
i know i will think about you as i dress myself in the morning,
wishing you were watching me because you did the ******* last night

i will sit in traffic, wanting you riding shotgun
like you do in my mind
i'd have to blow my brains out to stop feeling sorry

and i'll come home after a long day of work
that i want to tell you about
that i want to hear you tell me about
and it won't happen

and i'll collapse into the mattress once more

sometimes, another man is laying there
and i will never feel about him the way i did about you
the way i still do

i'll be seeing you

racing across the train platform,
one hand on our heads keeping our beanies in place,
the other clenching each other's

we slid in through the doors,
catching our breath in between laughter
we make it above ground just as the sun is setting over astoria
and i swear your eyes turn golden

my favourite you comes out at night
we lose track of time, put away our cell phones,
and vandalize this whole **** place with our love

carve your name into my rickety old heart like you did the trees
near bethesda
kiss me long and hard, like the winters
just as refreshing when i open the door and seeing you,
my own wonderland

melt this ice pick inside of me
set me on fire, for all i care
everything is dying right now,
but for once, for once, it doesn't feel like it

the sun's peeking through the shades,
the morning rain has finally stopped,
i roll over, and see you reading the copy of the writings of florence scovel shin that my father gave me and i never paid mind to.
you glance over to me, adjust your posture to welcome me into your side.
and we lay like this for hours, talking about
people who have let us down,
places we want to find,
things that don't matter anymore.

i'm more than a little disappointed in knowing this will end.
we will get up.
monday will come.
you don't even care that my newly blue and green hair is staining your white shirt.

i know that i pick you over my ego more often than i should.
and i have loved you more than i ever thought i could.
but i think you should leave.

because when i lay back down, you always lean over and kiss me.
and i always sigh through my nose, because you always seem to take all my problems away, along with my breath,
and i think i need to learn how to do the former by myself.

before i let you back in this bed,
and decide that you're the most important person in it.

i exhale into your shoulder,
my arms trembling as i lift myself up.
you look pleased with yourself,
pleased with me.

nobody tells you how exhausting it is to love someone
when you can't even love yourself.
it takes twice as much effort, and you feel emptier afterwards.
my body felt like it was going to give out.
every day you called me beautiful,
every day i wondered why.
i'm watching your chest rise and fall, unable to fall asleep this time.
i'm just waiting for the alarm to go off at this point,
knowing you'll go to work and fist bump your buddies.
and i'll be wearing a turtleneck so my students don't think i'm a hypocrite.
i decide not call you anymore after that night.

i toss my keys onto the counter a few months later,
heading straight to my bed.
i collapse, sighing into my duvet,
on the side no one has laid since you.

i sit up after a moment, looking over at myself in the mirror.
my bangs are a little messier,
but there's a little more colour to my skin,
glimmer to my tired eyes,
and the hint of a smile.

i turn all the way around, lifting up my shirt.
you cannot see my ribs anymore.
i exhale once more.

my breath,
my hands,
and the world has finally stopped shaking.

maybe all our wasted days will add up to this:
bruised knuckles
and
swear words
and
"i love you so much it's killing me"

we wanted to build something that would last,
something that would whittle away at time,
even after our bones melt into ashes,
and only a tombstone remembers our names

but darling, we were never destined to be permanent;
we were uprooted by our own volatile mouths
that would spit enough fire
to destroy anything we constructed

so, we created desperation and goodbye letters
written with shaking hands
neither of us would claim as our own

we built cities out of scar tissue and left them to rot

i think about you all the time.

even when i'm asleep, i dream about your
fingerprints
and the way you snore,

and i have sad dreams where you tell me
that the sun rises & sets for us,
that western cities call to us,
and that june draws near.

but i wake up and cry without knowing why.

i think about you when i'm at work,
and when i'm on the train,
and when i'm watching racing droplets on the taxi cab window,
pretending we're the droplet that's going to make it to the edge.

and i think about you when i'm ordering coffee.
you like drinking it black because you think it makes you seem cool, and i tell you that's the dumbest thing i've ever heard - "you're basically drinking hot bean water then!" -
as i pour cream and sugar into mine, i glance up to see you smirking at me, lovingly.
nobody does that to me anymore, especially not when disagreeing.

i think about you when i'm washing my hair,
and when i stand in front of the closet,
and try to find a shirt i haven't yet worn with you.
it's a pointless exercise; they all have your scent on them.

i think about you when i'm making dinner,
and sometimes, it just hits me out of nowhere.
that i'm here, and you're there,
and my hands shake so much i have to put the dishes down.

it would probably be easier to not think of you at all,
to not be so familiar with how your fingers feel on my hips,
to forget the way you brush my hair every night before bed.

but i find myself deciding that i would rather know those things
and be in pain from the knowledge of your existence apart from me,
than to not know you at all.