I asked you for months to write me a poem.
“Something about our love,” I begged.
but what I really wanted was to hear the sound of your voice.
The music your footsteps made when you would saunter into my bedroom often gave me chills.
You made me want to sing along,
but the color in my eyes was nothing compared to yours.
I’ve had some trouble breathing since april;
it never rained that month.
You tend to speak like your words are written in cursive, and I’ve always loved the way you pressed your tongue against your lips.
As if my name was important.
I lie awake in your bed thinking of your cheekbones and the dimples in your back.
Reality never played in my favor.
I’ve heard that only the stars can illuminate an empty soul
but you were not a star.
You strung your words around my neck like christmas lights, and they kept me warm when I slept
because you knew I hated the cold.
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if u ever meet me in real life do me a favor and hug me for like 2 solid days ok I’m a very sad very cuddly person