spilled ink.

What we have is not friendship, its unrequited love.

I almost forgot what you looked like, so I looked at old pictures, and it tore me apart.

As the time of our distance grows so do these dreams. My mind is making up for what it misses; You. If these dreams could become more elaborate; more detailed. Maybe these feelings could reach you too.

a simple question would suffice  she told me late one night but how can it be simple when i look at you and “love” is not just a verb it is a noun, it is an adjective it becomes everything  i try to mad lib. because the silence is damning these words in my mouth they slur to make up for  every line marked inbetween us then and now... and maps, they lie. ‘cause if i could i would fold one together so there’d  be no distance between you and me. and if i could i would fill each empty street like lines on a page. i’d write a novel to  get myself right back to you. 

these words need to fall from my lips  the way your hair strands slip from your head as you press your face against my knees.  we sigh in relief, we sigh to release any disappointment that comes  eating away at our slow days.  but your smile holds me in a slow daze how many hours has it been since someone walked by to interrupt  my leering gaze? have you noticed? have you tried to really look into my eyes? ‘cause you remind me of someone  in my once upon a time.  they call her J. and like a blue bird she sang sweet melodies. but she’s the type to never make a nest. 

i will never forget the struggle of my hands in yours and the way your eyes looked when the sunset was a halo behind you and your lips became the sea and my lips became the shore. the wind was as eager as your eyes, unrelenting and biting fiercely, reminding me that no matter how many layers i wore to keep myself warm my bones would still feel the chill. when i was young i told myself that i would live in a place far away and safe. was it a mistake then, that that night i decided that my home was you?

in years passed which hold no true length, measured only by the extent of grief, her eyes became darker and her heart much harder, and although there was an ocean at her feet, she only saw beauty in the smallest stream, for a trickle of water was all that it took to feed the deepest and bluest sea, but was a drop in a puddle compared to her dreams.

I would of waited. and that’s the saddest part. I would of waited until you were ready. I would of waited until it was convenient. I would of waited until your empty promises were bursting at their seams. You shouldn’t of waited, now you’re the one with the broken heart.

I’m not ready, But you sure as hell make me feel like I am.

my hair was tousled, my sheets entangled in my legs — from my lips, a sigh as i sat breathless and wide eyed. there were whispers of rain amongst the wind, which pressed against my windowpane, and forced the glass to shudder within its frame. i thought only of you, only of the way my bed was empty, and my skin was cold. i thought only of you, and how on nights like this, you'd whisper "come back to bed" and bring warmth to my skin with but a kiss. the wind moved on and the rain began — and as though washed away, all thoughts of you passed.

And the sad truth is that I will love you until one day I wake up and I love another. There’s no use in fighting it anymore. I’ll let nature run it’s course.