I remember the names of flowers we uncovered during each perennial continuation of days, months and years. I can recall how quickly the seasons changed — every halcyon sense of realism diminishing into abstraction as we fell out of touch.

I’m sitting on the walkway, smoking a cigarette, watching the stars; thinking of you. I’m reminiscent of when we laid out here doing the same exact thing, except a prolonged addition of past drunken ramblings that resonate with me now. I miss your voice, and the way your laugh sounded beside me. I miss knowing I could turn to you in the same room. I guess I just miss you tonight. I’ll keep this with myself, but I want myself to remember that I missed you yesterday, I miss you now, and I’ll miss you tomorrow.

the things you always joke about
they hurt
but im not leaving you
the way you talk to me when you get angry
it hurts
but im not leaving you
the way you change completely when i bring up a friend of mine who's a guy
it scares and hurts me
you joke about how "im on this guys ****" or some immature ****
it hurts cause you know i wouldn't do that to you
but i wont leave
cause you're still the boy i met just a few months back
but now all your sweet words sound so full with lust, no love
i can ever so slightly hear a drop of love, scattered in between the "i love you" and the "im sorry baby" and all the in between
i love you
and im not leaving you
.
.
.
not yet