Honeysuckle and vinegar
Sweet and scalding
Heady in my throat
Staining your aftertaste
On the inside of my cheek

I can't stop thinking
Resting my head
Against your side
As you stand
Drinking in my scent

We're like honeysuckle and vinegar

A week ago you held my body,
as you soundly slept with your arms around me.
A week ago while you rested your eyes,
I whispered "I love you" in silent lullabies.

Three days ago you made your confession,
with piercing words and an apologetic expression.
You drunkenly stumbled into the bed,
of a girl you'd promised was just a friend.

So tonight I drank so that I was too drunk for the party,
and spent the night wishing you would show up and fight for me.
But as always I was left disappointed,
Despite how I know that waiting for you is pointless.

So I’m on my way home now,
And this empty cab is really getting to me.
I got used to you sitting beside me,
Too used to your body molding around me.

So now I’m calling your number,
Far too many times.
Don’t know what I'm hoping,
For you to stay the night then in the morning I’m broken?

I keep repeating how you ****** it,
I keep repeating how you lied to me.
I keep repeating you shared the taxi home,
I keep repeating how you hid it all from me.

So now I’m blocking your number,
And you’re deleting our messages.
Too late for me to save them,
And too late for you to save this.

Seasons came and passed by
still living in shadows that your memories cast by;
reliving our togetherness and not allowing my soul to lament.
Praying every falling star to bring back our precious moment..
learning that it is not that easy to forget, as it is to be forgotten,
looking for you all over the world, forgive me I am a little foughten;
didn't lose my locus,
trust me you are still my focus;
longing for your broad hug
in your smile is I am still drugged;
Need no warmth nor presents..not askew
All I want for Christmas is you..

I have always  tried my best to share my world,
painting, writing, sketching.
But you weren't an artist.
You felt untalented.
but, my dear Melilla,
you were the   a r t

although the trains are not the same
i close my eyes and drift away
and when the trains blow on their horn
i almost feel i am at home.

I miss you, not as a lover.
But as the guy who would ask me how I'm doing when nobody asks.
When we would talk random things for hours and argue all of a sudden.
Yet, the next day is just another day to laugh off about other things.
And I miss you that way.