My english teacher told me to write what I really meant to say, so I decided to go about my writing more honestly. I tried to write like a lover would instead of how a poet would. I wrote about how your eyes are cerulean, and that when you laugh, your corneas burst. And I wrote about how you lose track of what you're doing very easily and how I still feel your touch on me hours after you're gone. And I wrote about how you walk like you're on a tightrope which always throws me off because in many ways you're clumsy. I wrote about how it's almost impossible to describe how I feel about you without using caps and how you're so much more than an MLA formatted essay. And you're more than a stamped apology letter, and you're more than a poem to add to my collection. You're more like a novel, you fill the margins with footnotes and I never want to put you down. I want to re-read you until the pages start to fall out and most of them will be dog eared and highlighted, I'm sorry I just love everything about you and I'm also sorry that I've never been exactly what you wanted but please remember that I breathe you in every single day. I fall asleep to the sound of your voice even if I haven't heard it in days and I hear a song and want to show you it. I can feel how good of a person you are because you haven't stopped knocking the wind out of me since we first met. I've always been told that it takes just a spark to light a wildfire. Is that true? I hope so. If it is, then we're going to be set ablaze. Tsunamis roar in your eyes and nobody's dared to tell you to calm yourself. I think it'd be a privilege to drown in your eyes and feel the weight of your insecurites. Have you ever kissed somebody that made you taste colors? Have you ever hugged the sun or told the moon all your secrets? I look at you and I've done all three. But I want to know what the sunset looks like when you're in love with me. Are you in love with me? Is that even possible? I've found the valleys of your spine and studied your cheekbones to make sure they weren't porcelain. I want to hear your voice crack when you speak to me but only because when your voice is cracked I can fill the cracks with mine and that's my definition of a conversation. Everything points towards you and I can't help but love you. I think this is my definition of love. I chose you out of everybody, that's love, right? No, I didn't choose you. I didn't get to choose. You don't get to choose who you love. That's what I've always been told. Yes, this is love. I love you.

i'm trying to tell my body that it's just a body and that you are just a body and that i can let go and that i can tell you to leave. and i told you that i don't know how to do much, i don't know how to stay and i also don't know how to leave and i also don't know what to do when i get the feeling that you're leaving and i know i'm not making much sense but you need to leave because i don't know how. i also don't know how to tell you that i'm not the type of rain that's meant to kiss in, i'm the type of rain that you're supposed to run inside to avoid. i told you i love you and that my lungs hurt from trying to not hyperventilate and this hurts me more than it could hurt anybody else but when i'm with you, i try to stop my hands from shaking and i try not to make eye contact with you and i can't spit out most of what i want to tell you and that's really sad because i have so many stories to tell and so many questions to ask and i can't tell you why this happens but i'm going with i love you too much. and you just stood there. i don't know if it was because you wanted me to say more or to shut up or because you never heard me say that much in such a short time period but you just stood there. and when you started walking towards me i knew you probably blocked out my voice by then and i realized you're the reason for gravity. at least my gravity. you're the thing keeping me anchored to the ground. i tried my hardest to push you away but every time i pushed too hard my knuckles started bleeding apologies that i know you don't like hearing and now you're not here but you're not gone and i miss you.

This is heartbreak, this is that tugging you feel when you hear his name. This is anxiety, this is how you know how real "this" can be. This is the feeling of numbness, this is how you cope. This is how you welcome depression, this is how you never got to tell him you're sorry. This is how you want to crawl into bed and only come out when he says it's okay, that he's there. This is how you fake a smile, and tell everybody it's okay, that he's not feeling pain anymore, when you're still trying to believe it yourself. This is how you tell the voices in your head to shut up, this is how you ask the nurses, "why?"

This is how you teach yourself to let go, this is how you tell yourself he's okay. This is sadness trying to comfort you, telling you about how great of a person he was, but it's sadness, everything about it makes you feel worse. This is that ball of tightness you feel in your throat when your mom hugs you, this is you trying to be strong for everybody. These are your shaking hands holding his favorite shirt, this is the strength he taught you. This is the throbbing in your head, this is how you regret. This is how you tell yourself that's it's okay, this is how you convince yourself that he still loves you, this is how you convince yourself that people aren't so bad. This is how you don't want to look in the mirror, this is how you find the strength to get out of bed. This is how you forget how to sleep, this is how you remember was misery is. This is how you shut people out regardless of how unhealthy it is, this is how you look up to stretch your neck with your eyes closed and take a deep breath.

This is how you miss somebody.

open up your soul and let me explore your heart.
when i'm walking in black caves instead of traditional red ones,
i promise to fix the cracks and tears and impurities life has put there along the way.
and when i get lonely and i start to miss your voice,
i'll find my way to your head
and visit your thoughts.
i know it's dangerous there,
like i'm walking straight into a tornado
with your insecurities racing by me to get to your eyes
and your confusion darkening a corner of your mind.
and with your loneliness walking by itself to it's room,
with its black eyes and pure white hair,
pale skin and lips that have never smiled before
you can't help but think about the thoughts running through it's own head
and how scary it'd be to walk through there.
maybe that's why it's so lonely,
everybody's scared they'd never walk out of its mind.
and when i can't take the chaos anymore,
i'll run to your spine
and count your vertebrae.
and when i get bored there,
i'll walk to your hands
and think about what destruction they've done
when they broke that mirror
and when they wrote that poem that hangs in my room
and after i have my map of your body put together
i'll leave it in your heart.

you're a book that has been locked shut and the writer has swallowed the key. and i heard he's ripped out a few pages because they were tearing him apart knowing he wrote them, and because the thought of creating such a thing could drive any man insane. and legend says he doesn't remember when he wrote you, or what crawled into his head to make him want to write down what he did. but if somebody took the time to look at his handwriting, the way he dotted his "i's" and messed up on his "h's" because his hands were cramping from getting lost in you for so long and if you let somebody read every page, take the time to read everything that makes up you, dog ear your pages when they find something interesting and then go back and read the same sentence over and over again, and silently apologize when they have to put you down for the night, i think you could learn to understand that not everybody absorbs insanity quite like you.

I started missing you today
I usually don't miss people because missing people is weird and sad
and I already have enough negativity in my head
when you whisper hello
and make me turn my head
and remind me
Then I get this ticking sound in the back of my head
and I keep telling my feet it's time to turn around
but then I remember
that even if I started walking
I would never find you
and then the itch comes back
and the tick turns into a beat
then I realize its a mix of my heartbeat
and me repeatedly punching the wall or my head
maybe if I could feel that'd clear that part up
and I remember the questions
I needed to ask you about math class
and I remember your little sister
telling me that you had a crush on me
and to keep it a secret
and I remember the swing set we pushed her on
and the only thing I can't remember is
when you told me you loved me
but I know you did
because I told you I loved you too
and I still do love you
and I know I should remember that
above everything else but I don't
and I'm sorry
I'm so sorry for everything
I'm sorry I didn't help you cheat on that test
and I'm sorry I didn't save you a seat at lunch that one time
and I'm sorry I forgot to study with you the other night
and I'm sorry I let you walk home because I was mad at you
and I'm sorry I let that car be the last thing to kiss you

t.w