The world is ending
You said “close your eyes“
I shut them
I saw the reflection of the burning sun in your pupils
It was the end
The fire crashed over us and we melted into each other’s hearts
...I woke up a little girl again
And my small hands touched the grass that we laid on in our Indian summer days
You said I had the most prettiest eyes
Frankly that just wasn't enough for you
I plucked the grass from the dirt
and you helped me make flower bracelets for the both of us
That was then
blown to bits by the multiplying thoughts of breaking us apart
but little one there are many steps you'll have to take
before you step on the shoes of another traveler
so I keep walking against the fire
and you walk back into the field of flames

If I were to break your nose and shatter the bone around your corrupted heart... Would I feel better then?

Will I ever forget your handwriting, the words left on paper and on skin?

The night you told me I didn’t put stars in your eyes anymore was the night
I didn’t see any stars myself. I thought we were written in constellations but that was more hopes
of my own then fate. Yes, I was upset. But I wasn’t in love. And that’s why it didn’t hurt.
I never lied when I said there was a moment when I thought we were some type of forever.
Do you remember the time when you were out by the lake of New Hampshire with the most gorgeous sunrise,
and you told me all you could think about was how much better it’d be if I was there to see it too?
I told you it didn’t matter but when I woke up the next morning, I felt detached from where I was.
There’s a part of me that wishes I saw that sunrise too.
But that’s just how it is.
All I have is stories of “has been”s and “could’ve been”s. A collection of “almost” and never seen sunrises—
the memories carefully stacked on top of each other, organized and filed away, collecting dust.
Somewhere I still think we exist though, an eternal splotch of sunshine and mutual caring, some place where our love didn’t hurt.
Somewhere there’s a lace wedding veil and a matching tux that were actually worn. Somewhere there’s the unfinished scrapbook I put together that has more pages added to it. Somewhere there’s a collection of passports from all the road trips we should’ve taken.
Somewhere out there, we are the type of forever I intended us to be.
Somewhere, in a little cabin in New Hampshire, surrounded by evergreens and daffodils,
there’s a little girl with the same name as my favorite movie character
with your hazel eyes and my dark hair.

In order to move on, you must understand why you felt what you did and why you no longer need to feel it.

You taste like the sea, the one I've spent years looking out over and wishing it would swallow me whole.

It's a **** good thing too
You were right.
Good thing I listened this time