Dear You, the things you’re about to read are pent up broken words that pen and paper

cannot hold. So forgive me if nothing makes sense.

I cry for the could’ve beens that died along with the people that drifted apart.

There was a glint in your eyes that told me we weren’t forgotten, only put away.

She never said she loved the sea but every wave that crawled to shore spoke her name like

a mother’s lullaby

torturing myself

listening to your favorite song

pretending you’re on the other end

of this headphone

No

I will not write you poems

I will not spill ink for your smiles

nor papers for your embrace

I will not

put you on a pedestal

clutch my chest at the sight of you

put hearts between your name and mine

Maybe

I’ll forget feeling this way

the scent of hair gel stops reminding me of you

I’m not inlove

Hopefully, I’m not inlove.

I wait for the day your name stops to feel like tremors on my throat and fresh cuts on my

lips.

You’re this tragic 

book I’ve finished way back 

but could not put down,  

rereading 

hoping to get 

the ending 

I wanted.

I’ve never thought of you

as a flower

or something as delicate

But I’m picking you

out of my garden and choosing a book

I’ll never read again

keeping you pressed

forgetting you

until forgetting is forgotten

I told myself I’ve moved on from how many times I’ve fallen but with last night’s drunken

stupor, with even how I’ve downed shots like an alcoholic, sobreity strikes as soon as I

talk to you.

Around the flickering lights and sweaty bodies grinding on the dance floor, I still look for

your eyes, hoping to catch mine

But never once. Not even once.

I don’t want words that clung to stars and crashes of the ocean sea;

or promises of a lifetime of romance.  

I want raw, pure, and honest emotions mixed with the ink and frustrations from the

moment I laid eyes on you.

I want something real.

I would declare my love for you

over the unsung mixtape 

of the heaves and hos of my chest when I see you;  

over the rhythm of the tippity-taps of my footsteps when we’re together.  

In anyway possible, I would.

But never in words.

The ink I spill are the words I wont.

Tonight I’m drunk on thoughts and words about the could’ve-beens and what-ifs. I’m

bleeding tears and profanity as these thunderous sentences scream out the only thing that

could escape the tight grip of these clenched fists

That nothing was true, that you were a reflection of how I want words to soothe me. You

were nothing but a photograph that captured my happy ever after. You were the nothing

that was my everything

I’d like to get inside your head for once.

Know your thoughts, you sweetest memories, your darkest moments, the child who once

did or did not steal sweets, a prepubescent kid who looked up a woman’s skirt, or a man

whose heart dreams wildly.

I want to strip you bare.

Because I’ve pieced this puzzle of who you are in my mind and I want to get the bits and

pieces right.

An affectionate hand, your welcoming fingers, a warm embrace, your ears that listen, a

smile that comforts, a back that hunches quite a little that hovers over me, your raspy

voice that I sing along to, collarbones that show a little asking to be traced, lips that call

out my name in the loveliest way possible.

You’re this perfect epitome of a man that I’ve made, and you deserve that pedestal moreso

than anyone.

But I want to know what makes you tick, what makes your eyes deep, dark abysses pooled

with anger, what makes your voice the scariest rumble of thunder anyone has ever heard,

or what makes your lips thirst for the lips of another.

I want to break the perfect image of you in my head and replace it with the greatest

imperfection there ever was.

You’re broken glasses and pointy shards, but I’ve got hands and knees willing to bleed to

pick you up and take you home.

You asked if you think she’d accept you despite your flaws. I’m not her. But from the top of my lungs,

I’d scream “yes” over and over again.

The world has forgotten us, but I’ve got scars to prove them otherwise.

The words exchanged felt like kisses from galaxies

that existed in memories

from forgotten fairy tales

that the gods and goddesses of Olympus has hidden from us

to prevent us from thinking

that love

is stronger than Zeus’s thunderbolt

or death that Hades brings us

I’m glad you look at my eyes and not my hands, but I hope you feel the thunder and tsunamis running

through my trembling words.

You said an easy choice was never for you.

But I wish you’d stop battling the gust of winds and pouring rain and take refuge under these arms of

mine.

I notice how you mention her name.

Gently, and with a hint of secrecy.

Like how your name should sound like.

There’s so much to say that’s building up in my body but with so little courage, I could only manage to

say your name and I lose it.