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I pick small flowers from the curvature
of the nape of your
neck;                          
i wake up,        one minute:
you    are    
gone.            

I move on                
with my life,
i move out              
of these same walls,
like the                                                        
next                                                                
fervent                                                                          
dream,                                                        where I still  believe
I'm over                                          it,                                                      
I'm

just still kind of  
in love with  
you.  

i'm sorry always                                                                    
sorry i pretend                                                                        
like I                                                                                        
care                                                                                      
or                                                                                    
don't care                                                                            

and                                                                    

I don't really know where the hours  
went, or the years of life you wasted on
me.              
x
every hairline fracture
in the sidewalk has
a story longer than
numbered pages could allow
so
why can't i
figure out a single word
to say to you?
 Jul 2013 Sydney Ranson
Miriam
pay attention
to the slow sunrise
in the mornings

that's how i feel
whenever you look at me.
 Jul 2013 Sydney Ranson
verdnt
this is very jumpy. i have been up for 24 hours. i don't know

There are miles between us on the queen sized bed and all I know right now is *words words words
and nothing spilling from chapped lips. Passion and lust and I need you's coming out in the form of long kisses and hands-on-my-chest types of expressionism. This isn't the kind of dizzy your momma warned you about. Deep sea swimming inside your head and I'm trying to figure out a way to mean more than just someone you want in your bed. There's a tug at the bottom of my navel pulling me away from the edge, but I've already dived in. Sparks flew where your careful fingers met my hip bones, but lightning struck where your feelings for me lay and with a thunder clap they were gone as fast as rain slides down a window.
The night I found out I was not important to you, regret was just a knot in my throat. But now, it is a hand choking my heart. How beautiful it would be for you to understand just how much I miss you.
I only wanted someone to hold me like I was the source of every bit of his happiness. This wasn't love but it sure as hell felt like it, or more like it than my hand being guided to the zipper of your jeans.
I can't think much else beyond 'I miss you' and it makes me want to crawl out of my skin. Why can't I write about anything or anyone but you? I still can't shake the notion that this is a feeling best tried to outrun.
Our story is a half-packed suitcase. I will tell myself that this is going to be okay, that I am going to be okay. Even though I really think it won't be.
 Jul 2013 Sydney Ranson
verdnt
you didn’t want me

not when your fingers dug into

my hips or when they trailed 
their way up my thigh

and i don’t think 
i really wanted you, either

we wanted skin and we wanted flesh

touch without connection

we pressed our lips together

once or

twice but i think it was habit

more than anything

we were doing this

so we had to do this

touch me and i’ll touch 
you but really

i was touching him

and you were touching her

— The End —