I guess
all I ever really wanted
was to be symbolic of something
equal parts happiness and freedom
like the way your flesh lept as your heartbeat slowed inside your chest
as you held her hand
and how my blood turned thick
and cold at the sight of her lips
on your cheek and her smile at
your laughter

I want to tell her that
on the second of September
I kissed you so hard I swore
my lips would have fallen off
had it not been for the way
your voice seemed
to stitch up all the breaking
parts of me

and I wonder if shes seen
the inside of your bedroom yet
where the walls watched us talk and
the windows saw us whisper
midnight secrets

I bet she doesn't even write poetry
about the way you blink when you think
of something good to say or how your shirt wrinkles as you breathe and if she doesn't count your heartbeats before you fall asleep I don't know how I'll live with myself knowing that I lost you to someone who symbolizes happiness with inanimate objects like dog houses and swing sets or white picket  fences and NOT THE WAY YOUR LIPS MOVE WHEN YOU SAY I LOVE YOU OR HOW YOUR VOICE CRACKS AS YOU APOLOGIZE

I don't know how to end this without crying and trying to tell myself that happiness does not only exist
in your kisses
and this is
the closest I'll ever come
to saying I love you
again

what you don't know
is that amongst the midnight hours of slumber
my fingers still subconsciously reach
for your skin
and I want to dive down under
twelve blankets and a comforter
with you
and do some 2 a.m soul searching
what you don't know
is that your name still manages to fall out of my mouth every single morning when the six o'clock sunshine streaks my face
its almost as warm as your touch was
and when people ask my how I've been I feel like the biggest compulsive liar on the planet as I more or less continuously state that I'm okay
I'm not okay
its getting harder every day to put the pieces of your face back together in my head
I'm not okay
and your voice sounds a little different each time I try to replay it in my mind
its been years since I've heard you say my name
I'm not okay
I miss you every day
but you probably don't miss me at all
and no, I am not okay

I love the way your lips say my name and how something about your tongue tastes like sunshine on mine and your voice sounds like summer during the day and star dust at night and I aspire to make you acutely aware of how incredible it is to lose myself in your laughter and find myself in your veins I want to wake up each and every morning on the wrong side of the right bed with your sheets tangled around my ankles and your fingers intertwined with mine and I want to look at you through sun kissed bedroom air and tired eyes and tell you how ******* beautiful you are

its 4 am and I'm drunk off the very thought of you and I'm looking at the moon thinking about the first time we ever kissed and how the sun peeked over your shoulders and for a very brief moment my lips touched yours and your soul touched mine but now I'm alone at 4 in the morning and my blood is cold and slow and I'm staring at the moon wondering if its staring back at me from outer space as I'm forming galaxies of thoughts in my head imagining who invented things like semi colons and sentences and punctuation and I want to break every single grammar rule in existance by telling you that I am the human form of a run on sentence and that I love you more than any string of words could ever hope to say