I hated your drinking
I hated your smoking
I hated your tattoos

& I hated it when the store clerk asked me if it was a rough night when I purchased a dozen of roses

because replying, "yeah my friend's stuck in his grave"
was something I never wanted to say in my whole life

But here I am, a dozen roses in hand
and here you are, buried, and unseen

I miss your drinking
I miss your smoking
I miss your tattoos

Because at least you *were alive

I think that even if I lowered my standards, I'd still be alone.

It's not my high expectations, my choosy nature that intimidates guys. I'm alone because of me, of who I am. Somehow undesirable.

I've heard it all before - "never find your value in how men treat you," "don't give up on standards that mean the most to you," "you're worth it." It all repeats in the back of my head, losing a bit of it's gravity with every revolution.

I know I have flaws. I'd have to be dim to overlook them. And I have high, impossibly high standards.

Maybe I'm not budging on either of those because I like my own misery. I like to torture myself, saying, if only he were better, if only I were better.

I've set myself so low and the bar so high, daring a boy to take the chance with such small victory in his success. The championship game of his life, and in the end, everyone asking, "that's all he gained?"

It keeps on reminding her of him
So she burned it
And as it slowly turns into ashes
She feels the burning inside her heart too
suffocated by the pain
Of losing him.

She knows it would take
A lot of time
And courage
But hopefully
She can start anew.

That burning feeling
Will soon pass.
In time,
Her heart will recover,
She will be able to move on
And look ahead
For she believes
Something better is coming.