Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Cassian Apr 2018
Just for a moment
I was a time traveler
Nicotine, coffee beans
Trudging through the Ardennes
Running down some cobblestone road
I still don’t know where it goes
Just for a moment
I was a woman
A slightly distorted version of myself
Strong cheekbones petite nose
What are those?
Just for a moment
Seventy-three years ago
A machine gun in my hand
Making my last stand
Just for a moment
I was truly myself  
Something I’ve never felt
My soul is crying out
Meredith Ann Jan 14
The word
It means so many things.
And all mean something so strong.

It’s passive immaturity thrown in faces.
It’s stupid giggles and shaky whispers.
It’s high cheekbones and pretty hair.
It’s large numbers. With shifting and friction and bonding and breaks.
It’s caring and liking.
It’s something that I’ll never have.

But not because it’s not me,
Because I continue to deprive myself.
Because what was once self defense,
Has now become a brand.
And it’s too expensive to let go.
written 10/2/18
Bison May 2016
Brown hair, wild eyes
Tan skin, high rise
Cheekbones

I keep asking myself the same questions
And I never answer with the same sentence
That's what you get with depth over distance
That's what I get for trying to tame a tempest

Velvet voice, soft hands
Quick wit, she understands
Deep sorrows

She told me pay attention
So I wrote a check
And she laughed and said
It's best not to mention
The rest

She speaks four distinct languages
But I only listen when she speaks in anguish
That's what you get with early aging
That's what I get for always playing

She told me pay attention
So I wrote a check
And she laughed and said
It's best not to mention
The rest

It's best not to mention the rest
Mention the rest
Becca P Jun 2017
Skinny is a feeling.
The feeling of a necklace scrapping protruding collarbones,
The feeling of rings slipping off thinning fingers,
The feeling of sharp cheekbones slicing into skin,
The feeling of hunger scratching stomachs,
The feeling of jeans becoming baggy around pencil legs,
The feeling of bald patches covered with wooly hats in summer,
The feeling of sharp ankles balancing on scales,
The feeling of needles in arms,
The feeling of hospital blankets,
The feeling of cold.

But there’s no feeling in death.
Skaidrum Nov 2015
...
"They say freedom is a state of mind."
↡↡↡
Nostalgic reminder;
We exchanged souls on the sidewalk once.
His marble dreams dripped along porcelain palms,
Open blue terrors decayed at the birth
of the crow's injured wing.
We're hunting twin nightmares in
dawn's clothes that we've stolen.
Your mother tongue was a certain silence;
And what did I tell you,
I told you not to read death's lips by
the faint glow of the moon.

↡↡↡
I'm sure her wolven love didn't do you justice.
Brown eyes were tarnishing the coals of Jupiter
think foam, lust, and a side dish of insanity.
It's remarkable really;
how love had absolutely nothing to do with it.
There he is again;
Nightfall knockin' on your coffin with ease
please tell me you at least

⇸  h e s i t a t e d  ⇷
to let him in.
Violet bruises paint some pretty reminders,
Pastel happiness doesn't cover up
how long he's suffered.
God didn't bother to leave his name
among the wreckage of your bones.
I still wonder why that is.

↡↡↡
Lets turn these sorrows into strangers
like the way iron melts against your cheekbones.
Unfair warning; caution if you may
poison has never been an easy pill to swallow.
Never let the black sea lend you a double mirror
that's asking for self-destruction straight up.
There's rosemary placed in-between winter's wooden teeth,
it doesn't excuse every frozen god ****** cavity.
They say illnesses have cynical faces,
Grey skin isn't a cigarette dream
don't go igniting yourself
like the Fourth of July.
And I'm so sorry that this whole time
You've been drowning, and we've just been
describing the water.
Your freedom was your undoing, Dylan.

↡↡↡
"But someday, we will meet again."
...
I miss you, my friend.

Fifteen years,
One hundred & Thirty-Five days.

© Copywrite Skaidrum
I'm on a train.

One of those red ones with black trimmed windows you can imagine rolling through the suburbs on the way to NYC. Not a subway car but a classier vintage with proper rows of cushioned seats and a lever to pull if there is an emergency. There are sparse shrubberies on one side of the tracks and the ocean on the other. Young trees and bushes stroll by.  A little wind is pushing off the ocean, massaging the car ever so gently back and forth as we move along. A gentle click-clack is on the tips of our ears.

We got on together. I hadn't known you for very long but the connection was stronger than anything I had ever felt or have since. You practically sat on top of me for the first few miles. Couldn't keep your hands off me,  staring in my eyes like you were searching for something lost but you couldn't remember what. The edges of your lips turned upwards permanently as if you were always at the verge of a laugh. You interlaced my fingers with yours and held on like you would be ripped away if your grip loosened for even a second. Slender fingers holding so tightly that they were becoming red.

You were excited to to be riding with me, about where we were going and all the things we would do when we got there. I would see you peer out of the corner of your eye, then lean over to brush your soft cheek against my budding stubble. Kissing and gently biting my lips insatiably. The suns rays coming in at an angle and lighting up your perfect smile and dimple.

I had to remind you we were in public.

I was lost in your blonde curls and the incense of your neck. I had fallen incredibly hard and so fast that my face hurt from smiling and my heart beat with vibrations I had never known. Not even a whiff of anxiety or neurosis. Some of the best memories of my life, as fleeting as they turned out to be.

I yawned and you put your finger in my mouth. I bent over to tie my shoe and you would poke my **** and laugh with your own reflection in the window, like this was the first and best joke of all time. Maybe it was and maybe it is.

The waiter came and informed us that a thing called "the bar car" existed. We both jumped at the idea. I didn't exactly notice at the time, during our excitement, but that's when the train started going faster and everything out the windows began to blur.

The bar car was a wild ride and we took advantage of our lo'cal. All kinds of fine wine, liquors and illicit substances were available. We tried them all. You were beautiful, your laugh infecting everyone around you, I was charming and held a captive audience.   It was a dark, loud and glorious blur. We were the life of the party and it chugged on till dawn.

We woke up in our seats, disheveled and discombobulated. It was dark out already. Did we sleep through the entire day? The train was slowing down, maybe approaching a station. The party was amazing but we were certainly paying the price for the black out. You moved over to the seat across from me to have some more space and lay down. I saw myself in the reflection. My hat, charm and smile from the night before had vanished. I must have left them in the bar car the night before.
      You had changed, beauty uninterrupted but different somehow. I couldn't put my finger on it. Irritated maybe? I invited you to cuddle and battle the hangover together but you ignored me. Like you couldn't hear me or didn't want to. I decided to let you be.

I got up to use the bathroom and thought I would go look for my scattered belongings. Maybe I could find a scrap of leftover dignity while you rested. I inquired to the conductor who directed me to the bartender in the bar car. He hadn't changed a bit, somehow untouched and unaffected by last nights antics that had effected me so dramatically.  Same black suspenders and white pressed shirt with impeccably slicked hair. I asked him what happened and if I had an open tab. While slowly polishing a rocks glass he looked up and made eye contact for a split second before looking away.
He said:  "Oh the bar car takes its toll. In the end we all end up paying one way or another". I still don't know what he meant by that or if he knew.
      I asked him if he found my hat and he said he would check the camera. We walked in to a small back room, while he was reviewing the tape, over his shoulder I noticed a tragedy.

We were drunk. I was going on to a group of new friends on one side of the bar, they were hanging on my words and I was eagerly explaining whatever nonsense they were drooling over. You were in the corner wearing that red dress I love, with your hair up in a tight bun. A few curls had escaped and brushed your high cheekbones, a thin line of pearls dancing delicately across your perfectly symmetrical collar. You were stunning and inebriated, swaying with each bump and motion of the train. A man wearing my hat put his hand on your side to keep you from swaying over and then he left it there.
I took a sharp breath.

It looked like you put your hand on his hand to move it but then it stayed and you both swayed together. As the air left my lungs and the blood drained out of my face I watched your lips touch the strangers. A small piece of my soul slipped away forever. I couldn't watch any further. When I asked the bartender how long it went on he fidgeted for a moment and uncomfortably muttered "quite some time". I never found my hat or the other part of me that left that day.  

The train slowed. I walked to the back, as far away from you as I could get, in utter disbelief. How could you? I thought to myself.
I mourned the loss of the you as I knew you yesterday, quietly and to myself. A tear  escaped my eye and rolled down my now fully formed stubble as I fell in to a random seat in mild shock. There were a few passengers back there so I had to pull together relatively quickly. After gaining some composure I knew it was time to get off. I knew we could never get back to yesterday morning though I would have said or done anything to do so.

The train had stopped. I went back to my seat and you were sleeping. I took my coat and gathered my things. The conductor looked at me confused as to why I would leave something so magnificent, I assume he had no idea what had transpired.   

I walked to the rear of the car and slid the door open slower than required. I stepped to the stairs and put one foot down on the step and the other on the ground. I stopped, rooted with my hand on the railing, lingering between two very different paths.
     I knew that it was time to get off, I knew this was the sensible thing to do, that I couldn't get past this offense regardless of how I had felt earlier the day before. The whistle screamed from the locomotive. The conductor looked at me and shook his head, I'm not sure if he was trying to tell me to stay or go but a decision had to be made.

The train lurched forward and I watched as the station slip away slowly. I sat in between the cars for a while and watched the ocean and birds. With a heavy heart and shoes I walked back to my seat. You were waiting. Crying. You knew. The bartender had told you. You didn't mean do do it, didn't realize what you were doing and thought it was me. He was wearing my hat and the whole world was blurry and dark.

I believed you. Self anguish mixed with alcohol was dripping from your pores. I knew you didn't mean it and were drunk, but could I ever forgive you or trust you again?

I loved you still.

I caught a glimpse of my reflection, a weaker version of myself looked back. As if an invisible chip in my teeth had developed and my shoulders lowered. The charming, confident man from the bar car the day before had been replaced. Something was off but not enough for anyone else to notice, just enough to know a change has happened.
       The train started to pick up speed again as we distanced ourselves from the station.  I second guessed my decision to stay but I didn't look back.

I found the man with my hat and punished him with a few blows in the dark. He knew he ****** up, apologized and took the beating like a man. I never got the hat back.

The engineer announced that we would be going through a tunnel soon and to turn on our lights and keep our hands in the windows.

It would be dark.  

We stayed away from the bar car for a while but the draw was irresistible. After a few hours we were there again but you never left my side.  Then you did. I was looking for you but you would disappear and not answer me when I called you name. The tunnel went deeper and darker and I didn't know where you were and I suspected you liked it that way. The train began to slow down again as we exited the tunnel.

I finally found you back at our seat, you had moved one row away from me. I asked you to come back, tried to hold your hands but you pulled away with vehemence. When I came back from the bathroom you had moved another row farther.
I knew I was losing you.
I begged you to return but you told me calmly that it was time for you to get off. At some point in the tunnel you had decided that you didn't want to go anymore . Your mind was made. You were going to catch another train at the next station.

When the train stopped I thought for sure you would reconsider but you didn't. Didn't even give it a thought. You just grabbed your coat and hat with one big bag under your arm. You kissed me on the cheek like a french stranger and were off. Going somewhere else on a different train. Just like that.

I rode the rails for quite some time by myself , many people getting on and getting off, passing me by. Every once in a while I would think I saw you at a station or in a **** though the window of another train. I often thought I could smell you but when I breathed deeper it was always gone. A ghost dancing on the edge of my senses.

A young girl in a headband got on the train. She was listening to headphones and dancing to herself as she bobbed along. She sat down in the seat next to me flashing a smile. She had a wedding ring on and I dismissed her immediately.  She didn't move from the seat or stop glancing my way. Eventually she confessed that she wanted to talk. I told her I wasn't interested but she persisted.  I hadn't talked to anyone on the train for quite some time and after some more mild persistence, I gave in.

We had a lot in common. We were both riding alone, desperately wanted attention and were thrilled to receive some.  After a few laughs she slid her hand in to mine and interlaced her fingers. I left it there. It was warm, comforting and wrong. She was married but I had been riding alone so long it felt good to have some company. She stayed and we talked. She was broken and I had a knack for fixing things. After a few hours of dramatic conversation I fell asleep with her head on my shoulder.

When I woke up  the train was flying up the track on the side of a mountain. Trees and rocks were a blur of green and grey. The engineer must be trying to make up for lost time I thought to myself.

The girl was asleep with her head on my lap. I looked down at her hand and the rings were gone. I woke her briefly to ask where they went. She said she didn't need them anymore and had thrown  them out the window.  She could of sold them, I said, but she said she just wanted them gone so she could be mine and fell back to sleep.  All of a sudden I couldn't breath. This train was roaring down the tracks, the once gentle click clack had become a loud hum. Suddenly too loud. This girl in my lap who had just gotten on the train wanted to stay. I considered her for a while as she looked up at me with big blue eyes, shining and wet, like a puppy in the shelter, terrified of rejection and desperate to be adopted.

At the peak of the mountain, just when the train began to even out, you waltzed back in to the car with a champagne flute in one hand and your bag in the other.

I don't know when or where you got back on, must have been a few stations ago when I stopped looking for you. Maybe you were wearing a disguise, who knows what you had been up to while you were gone. I'm not sure how long you were away but it was quite some time. That you had been through something was obvious, a new wrinkle had formed on your brow and you're once confident stride had changed to a cautious stroll. What actually happened out there I don't know.  I never asked and I don't want answers.

You looked at me and smiled. It was good to see that smile, like sun on my face on a brisk day.  You took a step toward me and then I looked down in my lap at the girl at the same time you did. I looked up. You and your smile were gone.

Everything I had begun to feel for this broken, head banded girl in my lap dried up like a puddle in  the dessert.  I quietly and gently nudged her awake and told her I had to use the bathroom. She put her head down on my coat and fell back into what ever trance she had been in, eyelids gently fluttering, eyes searching beneath them for what I would never give her.

I dashed up the isle and threw open the door, almost shattering the glass. The conductor glared at me and rolled his eyes as I barged past to the space between the cars.

There you were. Standing on the stairs with your head out the opening. The wind was blowing your perfectly formed curls around your head like a blonde explosion of familiarity. I yelled your name and you dove in to me. My senses erupted, my mind went numb as the train was nearing another station and I inhaled your essence greedily.

We moved to another car. I abandoned my coat with the married girl and never looked back. I hope she found what she was looking for. I  never could have been the answer she was so desperately seeking but I know I  helped steer her towards it.

You told me you had encountered some other people out there on the rails and they had reminded you of what we had when we first left the station. I never forgot.  

The train started to rock and get going again. We were back in the bar car and starting to brown out. We had to get off of this train right ******* now. In a desperate moment we looked at each other and put our hands, together, on the emergency brake cord. I looked in your eyes with your hand on top of mine. You kissed me while yanking down on the cord. Time slowed, the breaks squealed and everything exploded throwing luggage, people and the entire contents of the bar car in to a nondiscriminatory chaos . We got up off the ground, ran to the end of the car, dove off the side in to a soft patch of grass and rolled down a small incline. We watched as the conductor sifted through  the mess and interrogated the passengers, trying to ferret out the party responsible for pulling the brake. He spotted us off the side of the tracks and shook his fist while shouting every conceivable obscenity combination.

We laughed, held each other in the grass and kissed deeply.

We watched the train pick up speed and disappear in to the hills as relief spread over me.

You interlaced your fingers in to mine and we both looked out to where the tracks disappeared into the horizon, wondering how far of a walk it was to the next station.
Burlesque fatuous is the implication of your emotional daily pretentiousness. I am seldom, otherwise a psychopath, able
to own fraternity which I can't
discernment or jester because there is an art to love and ******
And it's a conventional edit to your own dullness. I am vivid,
Debris to impersonation.
I am absent but identical
to thin air. I am a Prometheus
Arabian night in Lysistrata premise.
My words may remind you of the day I held your eyes in infinite cluster. Perhaps my love isn't enough for you to understand. For example, the glassed vain is paralysis iridium illicitness which is svelte to inadmissible synthesis. The cloud let are torsion, assail with cypress and impossible solariums; and the propane was a sensation of disjointed loveliness.
Every time I go for a walk, mosquitoes understand my lonely talks because they sip my blood at a quarter past ten but these glazed roads scrutinized my wrist, escorted vernal preposterous blue/purple relentless ghostly cheekbones.
Thought I could festive the blaze among the cedar bridge road
but take a pause and look at my skin and thighbones,
Preterists to flowered unless I smile and tell you
"This is heartbreak"*

*Unable to keep up with your facetiousness, personality failed me temporarily. Mind melting in a moment of dissonance,
This cognitive refrain refracts the 'I' that oscillates accordingly.
One's morphology, tuned to its own metric of change.
Hypnos whispers and sleep beckons, taunting insomnia (which makes a mockery of all humans) but Morpheus has no time for anything less than grandiose archetypes.
Last night I may have dreamt or drunk some foolish things, told people the truth untruthfully, let slip more than I should have.
What a pity, secrecy. They say
information wants to be free.
Who lingers in the details?
Past memories are liberated only by the present. I stand here in the downpour, soaking it all in.
Compassion, god is in the rain.
My fulgurite heart resting on the palm of a deity, at a tilt, slowly it's sliding off; when it fell I gasped.
The reflection of wide eyes in each of its atria, emotion flowing through these venae cavae, those
dilated eyes shimmered before it shattered, gleaming with passion. Us, in the blink of an I.
written on May 13th, 2017.
autumn-rachelle Sep 2018
what happens when you are so in love with a thought you could never dream.
       not like being on a timeout, or friend zoned.
  like wishful thinking of a perfect scene, or being.
Can most of us say that we ever truly fell in love at first sight, i can.                  
      i can tell you how the sun shines for the birds and blooms. i can tell you how the  diamonds are hand painted into the night sky and even have their own stories.
   i can tell you all the angles of the prisms, in the colors of a rainbow.
i can describe in perfect detail sculpted cheekbones and a smile so warm everything
    melts inside. 
 i can say how my heart aches to even be known. in the world, in the universe,
   in the front of someone's mind. not just known but really, and truly known by something, anything, anyone.
      i can tell you that my soul aches for more...
   i can tell you how my life essence is tied to more.....
after everything so far.
          i can also tell you that i doubt if anybody even knows my name.
its a mess, im used to it...... (:
I never did know when to shut my mouth,
So I guess it’s no shock to feel it smarting against your back handed swing,
But to be honest, I bet it hurt you more, does it sting?
Can you feel it in your bones ?
Copper taste against my tongue,
I’m choking on my own blood,
Does my manic laugh horrify you?
This Cheshire smile plastered across my face,
Do my cheekbones slice your knuckles?

That’s going to leave a bruise,
Not that you care,
Twisted my head back by my hair,
My body is peppered in greens, purples, blues,
But with the way you turn your head down you’d think I was the one abusing you,
When you wrap your meaty fingers around my windpipe does it give you pleasure?
What goes through your mind while your holding my life in your hands,
How many of my ribs have you cracked upon your feet,
Only to lick my thighs later like a treat,
One of these days it’ll be my fingers around your neck,
And I won’t stop squeezing till your dead,
Until then use my body to your hearts content,
This dangerous dance,
Like egg shells beneath my soles,
I’m waiting for you to slip on the blood you painstakingly draw from me blow by blow,
And in your own sick way you actually love me,
Convinced the only way to save me is to hurt me,
But I’m not that sick or twisted to believe the words you croke out,
One day very soon it’ll be you who shouts,
Ya I never did know when to shut my mouth,
So I guess it’s no shock to feel it smarting against your back handed swing.
If anyone was triggered by the nature of the poem , please accept my apology. Domestic abuse is very serious  and not something I take lightly.  

1 (888) 579-2888

Above is a Canadian victim services hotline.

If your in a bad situation please seek help.
Camilla Peeters Aug 2018
i woke up all solidified and my eyes strong
fixated on Matthyon you are grotesque dream
alike rosé cheeks the sour cream kind
dusted with finger prints we parade
in cities sick in dust cities in
parchment we remain fragile
they get fingered

i had to ask for Matthyon's
name your spelt-out request you
came to me held a finger up for
every letter carefully, mysteriously
my new alphabet

Matthyon we fought each other for bread
in white rooms i dusted my cheeks with
yeast; saw you bore the mark
drawn on pages the male curiosity in dust
makes me cough
the pride i have slumbers

you waved and smiled with rosé fever
Matthyon alluding to how my dreams may express feelings and love
how the question was cut out of my flesh
i want this to be well done

Matthyon the clouds do not often agree on the psyche of the human being
untransparant down there
it slips through their fingers; blood stains appear in the sky
on those evenings only

and i'm finding part of it
in the pages of parchment bibles
make me dust off my puffed
embarrassed cheekbones
i look up
i split meat from bone
i want this to be well done
Ashley Kaye Jul 3
Your beauty may birth from shaved legs
red clown lips, gaudy eyeshadow
flimsy black crumbles beneath
your eyelid
You are ****-sun-kissed;
I am opaque.
Blotches of color
Lighten my smile

cheekbones never as sharp
as your words
July 2019
It's getting warmer

but the leaves on my trees

continue to sway and twist,
rustling
and scrunching up

until they finally break free
and are swirling away
in the wind

and just like that,

my dreams had already drifted
out of my grasp

long before I saw the real world
come into view
for the first time.

There's china on display
in madame Liu's antiques & crafts shop

so delicate and white,

preserved and rooted to
polished wooden boards

like the smile painted on my face
each day

as I glide on glistening needles

and smooth out blistering red hot, black coals,

upturned lips melting feverishly in the sun's glare

until a hurricane sweeps in

and crushes my cheekbones
so I can no longer smile.

There is rain

silver, shimmering, and wet

soaking into rich soil
and work shoes

filling my water reservoir
and feeding my flowers

granting a quenching life to all

like my tears,

blurring the lines on the paper
and making the words swirl

turning tear drops into salt crystals
that ***** my cheeks

leaking into salty oceans and seas,

until a desert heat storm sweeps in
and blasts it all away.
02/17/19
avalon Mar 8
i am a small girl and many think i am harmless. i am disarming. i am smiles and laughter and the way your eyes look when you feel understood. i am the light reflected in your irises.

i am a small girl and many think i am harmless. i am charming. i am small touches on your cheekbones and feeling your fingers interlace through mine. i am the warmth of a lie.

i am a small girl and many think i am harmless. i am alarming. i am your heartbeat when it falters and breaks in your chest. i am regret. i am the shaking of your voice and your hands when the anger inside you coats your lips and tongue in sand.

i am harming. i am salt in a wound that i created, i am the only cure that keeps disease aggravated, i am shards of glass in the water that keeps you alive.

i am a small girl and i thought i was harmless. it was a lie.
Eva Aloezos Oct 2018
The light ascended from the lamp, illuminating my bedroom

as it did,

the walls melted.

In the mirror that once reflected my childlike face,
now lived a wide eyed creature

one with no direction,
sunken cheekbones,
large dark pupils in the space of a once beautiful iris,

I experienced an achy long ego death,

followed by a logical overdue breath

I knew then this had gone on long enough,
time to be rough,

and admit,
I have to quit
Brooke Nov 2018
Let me tell you, I thought I knew love before you came around.

I mean, I’ve written a million love poems.

But the subjects, they’re more or less the same, black ink, red ink, graphite.

And the graphite smudges, and so the picture is never perfect.

I try to re-write it all without mistakes, but I don't have an eraser.

Which is to say that I have commitment issues, but no issue committing, I just commit all the time, to everything.

I've canoodled with paper, but there's never enough space on the page for all the love I have.

Sometimes, I’ll meet a crayon that brings some colour to my life, but they’re just too waxy and impressionable. Too immature, too naive.

Naive.

I’ve never actually been in love.

But you, you are so much different and way hotter.

You bring a spark into my life that I’ve never known.

Baby, you set my world on fire.

I tell myself, blue pen, don’t let this go up in smoke.

Let me tell you. I would do anything to know love.

You see, there isn’t much to me, but I’ve got this way with words and I’ll write you into every poem that’s ever birthed hope in the eyes of star-crossed lovers.

I’ll draw you a map of my heart so when you feel lonely after you’ve been put aside and forgotten in the back of a cupboard, I’ll be there.

I want you.

I want the good things and your sweet embrace of smoke smells really good right now.

I want the good things but I’ll take it all. I’ll take the bad things too.

Fill my lungs with your poison, show me what it’s like to love something so much it kills you.

Teach me how to give all of myself to someone just so they are satisfied, even if it leaves me crushed on the cement.

Let me become addicted to you.

My whole life is written in ink and I can’t escape the mistakes I’ve made so if you’ll have me, here I am.

I can’t guarantee that I’ll be right for you, who knows what you write with but I will be here.

Let me tell you, I will still love you after watching you kiss the lips of every person that craves your taste.

I will still love you after you steal the oxygen out of helpless gasps and sunken cheekbones.

I will still love you after your temper sets forests ablaze.

I will still love you when you suffocate me in your fumes, leaving me choking on everything I should have said to you.

I will still love you when you burn out and your ember softens against a pillow of ash, and your smell, your taste, your everything lingers in the air like a nostalgic dream that I never want to wake up from.

Let me tell you, I am forever.

I am infinite and I can create and write anything you want, even if it’s just prose on a piece of paper or a picture of the moon on nights when you’re the only good left in the world.

I can be anything you want, and if that is someone that will love you because they want to, and not because they have to, then I will be that.

I won’t quit you.

I can’t.
Next page