you can only miss someone for so long
before that grievance for their absence
turns to resentment for their presence
and you start to feel
like missing them
isn't so worth it after all

I remember the times we never had.
The moments we never shared.
The long nights of conversations composed of the sweet echoing of nothingness.
The days where we did nothing but we did everything.
I remember it all.
I remember the first date that never happened.
We went out to see a movie and eventually went for a walk around the block.
A walk that lasted **** near 3 hours.
I remember how sore your legs never were after that walk.
The moonlit sky, no clouds to hide the empty darkness, the sounds of emptiness echoed from every missing star.
The first kiss that never occurred happened under that sky.
Those “memories” keep playing back to me on days like this.
I take in every moment that never happened as if it was a dream sewn to the edges of my heart, I don't want to let go... But it never happened.
What's there to let go of?
I remember months passing, I treasured every moment I got to hear your voice.
The sweet honey of your words reverberating at the edges of my subconscious, slipping into reality.
I remember memories of dreams of hallucinations dipped in the wishing well of my heart.
And then I remember the bad times that never happened.
The arguments about things that would be forgotten.
The fights over things that never existed.
I remember how we made up.
I don't think I would have meant anything as much as I would have when I told you I was sorry.
I remember it all.
The “I love you's” in the middle of the night.
No reason to say it, we just wanted to..
But then I remember something that I should never have forgotten.
We never had memories of what love was.

Your flaws are like stars to me
because I see them in your darkest moments,
I see them when the sun has set
and the night starts to whisper the truths
that you refuse to hear,
and I see them when the sky is clear
from thundering rain clouds.
But you hate the stars at night
and the only star that you learned to love is the sun,
as if its rays are going to love you
for the whole day,
when only it can meet you halfway.
Believe me when I say that,
like luminous bodies in space,
your flaws look beautiful to me.
And I don't want them to go away
because then the sky would be dark,
empty,
honestly boring,
and I wouldn't be able to write this love poem,
trying to appreciate the perfect manner
of your imperfections
by comparing them to something
that is literally out-worldly.

I love the stars
and I love you.

I think...
i think writing poetry
is a delicate art form.
When the words come,
they overwhelm my jumbled mind,
until i can barely distinguish
my own penmanship.
It's beautiful, getting hopelessly lost
in intricate poems forever tangled in my brain.

(but sometimes,
the page fills with blah blah blahs,
and my head with la la las,
while my guitar gathers dust in the corner.)