and still,
it is there.
an undeniable
and persistent
sort of ache.
the kind that sinks,
and festers,
and cries.
it is still there,
"the missing."

i wrote so much poetry for her
because she was always busy not loving me
and i had to fill the time loving her somehow

but see the problem is
now he and i are so busy loving each other
that i don't even know how to write him a poem
and valentine's day is tomorrow

i feel like i drank too much coffee.
just a side effect of my heart strings pulling
trying to find you, even though i was the one who dropped you off
at the airport.

i got home feeling cracked open
no coffee spilled out
just 'i miss you's and lint

you left a t-shirt for me. i wanted something to smell like you.
i fear i will never wash it again

I’ve always been a bad sleeper;
In fact
When I was a little girl
And I’d finally had enough
Of wrestling thoughts
and sticky sheets,
I’d tiptoe across quiet hallways
With sleepless eyes
To find solace in another couch or bed,
As if heartbreak
could be left behind
Like tear drops on pillows.

-LMJ.

It's like the entire world feels right
whenever I see you.

you never asked to read my poetry
maybe that was the sign.
i told you i wrote for fun,
you shrugged and moved on.

Let us not trade perfection
Let's exchange our flaws
and I will fall in love
with what you really are.

With what you have lost
In the dead of the past
With what you are missing
At this moment's blessing

There is crack in everything
That is how the light gets in.

Then I Questioned myself to my disappointments...

Does she even exist?