Sometimes, I'd think that I missed it.
All the late-night conversations,
good morning "I love you"s,
glances exchanged in the halls,
awkward smiles,
adorable nicknames,
that bracelet.

But I don't wear that bracelet anymore,
not since you starting doubting all we had.

When the good morning texts were just typed,
sitting there with the send button unpressed.
When we started avoiding each other in the halls
because we couldn't bear to see the other's face.
When those awkward smiles we'd exchange
turned into just plain awkward.
When the adorable nicknames went away.
When that bracelet just sat there,
on my dresser instead of my wrist.

Sometimes, I thought I missed the way we were.
But now I know, we're better off the way we are.

I have nothing left in this world to call my own,
no where safe enough to call my home.
All I really have is my writing stemmed from the thoughts
replaying on an endless loop inside my head.
I believe sometimes that when I write them down and create
that maybe it’s my one way to get them to escape.
My pain is truly stitched into each and every word.
I hope that they will one day possibly be seen, and I can
actually be heard.

You and I would stand in front of my bathroom mirror and
just hold each other, naked, acquainting ourselves
with the strange, biblical union of joints and hair
and skin and crevices and curves that we make
together...

Fingerpainting reverently on your chest,
I'd kiss your freckled shoulder, eyeing your reflection as it melted,
falling for me again-- and you'd
tell me in return
that my eyes are beautiful, and that they are green,
just like yours.
They are brown, I'd say, and
laugh and
leave
you to
confront only yourself
in my mirror.

Every day that I stand again
in front of my mirror alone--
a similar but emptier amalgamation of joints and curves--
I could swear that my eyes
look a little bit paler...
like if I
point my nose up to the high hat on my ceiling,
with the fluorescent light spilling into them
the color could certainly pass
as the same green in your eyes and
I wonder,
and I hope

that being wrong all this time
doesn't mean I was wrong about you, too.