do you know?

"Is it because of her?" You asked. And I looked at the spot where you and the girl I would never be had just been kissing and swallowed the lump in my throat, saving my tears for when you'd walk away.

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You had your hands all over me When you shook me so hard and your fist collided with my heart. You hurt me then and it was an excruciating pain and I swore I hated you and I could tell you couldn't stand me. I believed it was the end for us then. You had your hands all over me Hungry and wanting as they crawled under my shirt and stripped me bare as your lips connected to my neck, telling me 'You're gorgeous baby' and not to stop touching you. You'd hurt me before but it almost didn't matter because of the way you were touching me now. We had moved on from the end. You had your hands all over me When you were piling my clothes into my arms and pushing me out of your bed at 5AM because you wouldn't allow me to stay when you'd finished fucking me. The taxi man teased me about my walk of shame. I cried so hard when I got home, why didn't you want me to stay? You said you loved me and absence makes the heart grow fonder but what you really meant was you would get sick of me. You had your hands all over me I told you it was over and you cradled my face telling me you were sorry for what you'd done to hurt me in the past and you really, truly did feel something for me. Your thumb brushed against my lips and you kissed me, kissed me, kissed me until I was too weak to deny it anymore. I loved you, I did. I would have told anyone that asked that you loved me too. You didn't have your hands on me. We were finished then, you had left. You were no longer hurting me but you were no longer loving me and I still can't decide, is it worth it? Is one worth the other?

We sat on the window ledge of the boathouse. Our feet touched, like they were holding onto each other. And maybe, in a way, they were.  I didn’t know I had loved you then, not until I looked back and remembered just how unafraid I felt.  Usually, I was terrified of water and heights but I wasn’t afraid of either that night.  But if I’d known then what I’ve come to learn now, I’d have been petrified. If I’d have been aware of how incredibly in love with you I’d fall then I think I would have damn near jumped because nothing scares me more now than who we became.

I hate metaphors. You left. You didn't fall from a tree, Or exit the station. You didn't separate or disintegrate. You left. I can't write about you light-heartedly anymore with rhymes and beautiful words because it's not romantic. You are not here. That's the tale. You left without saying goodbye. My heart didn't crumble, it broke. Quite literally too. You left. It's not a metaphor.

Did you know? Before you finally got on that flight and went away, did you know the truth? She loved you. It was clear as the sky is blue. But sometimes the sky is grey so maybe you really didn't know. She loved you. It was as obvious as the grass is green. And the grass is green, so of course you knew. She didn't hide it, try as she might. You saw her cry when you kissed someone else and you believed her when she said you weren't the problem. You can't have known. You let her sleep in your bed when she tried to move on and he hurt her in ways that she thought you would never do. You must have known. You must have known she loved you. Did you love her? Even just a little bit. You asked her was she crying for you, you held her when she cried, you called her when you were drunk and lost in a city you'd never been to because she was the only thing familiar to you. You might have loved her, even just a little bit. But she loved you. And you left, Who will she love now? Will he know?

I know you’re leaving and I know I should tell you I love you before it’s too late. I'm afraid it won’t be enough to make you stay.

I fell in love with his hands. Large and calloused. They had seen the world, these hands. Must have belonged to a builder in a past life. They must have been donated by Gods, who built the beautiful Pyramids, the ancient cities. I fell in love with these hands. I was astounded by their powers. From the fingertips, lightning bolts shot. When he curled each digit into a tight knot, I saw strength and freedom. I fell in love with hands when they wrapped around me, crawled up into me and strangled my heart and each nerve ending with a grip so breath taking that Hercules himself interrupted and begged for the use of those hands. I fell in love with hands. I fell in love with teeth. The crash, the clatter. They gleamed like the sun that shone from eyes. When lips separated, it was the sea, it was Noah casting a Godly spell upon my senses and he smiled and shattered the world as the sea crashed upon the shore. His teeth tugged on the heavenly rose-bed that bled truth and guilt which couldn’t be hidden upon impact. I fell in love with teeth when they pulled and pushed with a fury so tangible that the devil excused himself and gazed lovingly at the passion. I fell in love with teeth. I fell in love with legs. Long and dangly. They had run the earths’ surface and maybe even strolled the length of the sun. Legs intertwined like the fingers that held me together in the middle of the night. These legs wrapped around and the memory of purchasing a safety net escaped but safety it was, safety remained. Nothing could penetrate the barricade his legs provided wrapped around little ones. I fell in love with the power to save in just a brush, just a touch. I fell in love with legs. I fell in love with eyes. Blue and bright. People go star-gazing hoping to see the moon in full form, a planet, a shooting star. I wished I could lie beneath the sky and see nothing but those blue, bright orbs that clouded my mind. It was like they spoke their own language; one of love and beauty, clarity and tragedy. Love me, kiss me, challenge me. They spoke to me and I was rendered. I fell in love with the language of love. I fell in love with eyes. I fell in love with thoughts. Pure and sinful. When lips separated to share a single word, the greatest poetry and romance novels were put to shame. No level of literature could illustrate the purity of these thoughts. When thoughts spoke, I wanted thoughts to never shut up, always talk to me! I love you, I want you, I need you, I love you, still. Ideas and promises took the shape of a fist and held my heart with every ounce of strength. I fell in love with thoughts. I fell in love. I fell in love. I fell in love. I fell in love. In love, I felt so deep, deep, deep, deep in love. I love you! I fell in love when limbs intertwined and thoughts screamed from the eyes. I fell in love with hands, legs, eyes, thoughts, teeth, ears, nose, shoulders, feet, spine, passions. But He fell out of love with ease.

It makes me sick to my stomach when I remember you. Standing there, one hand on my shoulder whispering into my ear. My hands were on your chest, holding you steady. You were right there, you were right in front of me. It makes me sick to my stomach that I pulled back because I was scared. I could have had you and now I don't.

Do you think we could stop time, just for a minute? I want to hold your hand. I want to close my eyes and remember what it's like to not feel sadness whenever I look at you. I just need to hold your hand in mine. Remember what it feels like to love you without regret, without harm. Just for a minute. Can we freeze the clock, maybe for an hour? I want to walk with you for some time. I don't care where we end up, as long as I know you're beside me. Not that you ever walked quick enough to ever be right beside me; So maybe just a few steps behind, always with me. I want to recall the time we spent moving but never really moving at all. Just for an hour. Wouldn't it be nice to pause the day? Press the button on 7AM. You know, when the sun is setting but the room is still dark and it smells like freshness. Like love and laughter and the secrets you whispered with your lips behind my ear. We could consider getting up all day but never do it. "Just a few more minutes, I'm comfortable." You could read out the highlighted lines in my favourite poetry book, teasing me until I'm kissing you, mostly to shut you up but maybe because I just enjoy kissing you. Like we used to do. Just one last day. Because I didn't know, it was my last minute. I never knew there'd be no more hours. You didn't warn me it was my final day. There was no goodbye, and I didn't save the moment enough. Can we rewind, just this once?

"She did this thing," he recalled. "When she got a text that made her squirm. She would gasp, all too dramatically of course. Very irritating. And then she would swing the phone in a quick-paced action that would make you think she was going to drop it, but she didn't. It fell between her palms and it looked as though she was squeezing. As if she could clasp so tightly the phone would disappear. She would bring her hands to her face even with the phone crushed between each one." He stopped for a moment, commemorating her habit silently. He couldn't talk of her anymore without stopping to smile. "Then, she would gasp again and finally drop the phone. She never broke it. Not ever. This was when she would look at whoever she was with and beg for the answer. "He texted me," She would say every Sunday morning, with shock. It wasn't a question but it required an answer." He stopped again. He couldn't speak of her anymore without stopping to remember, really remember. He couldn't speak of her anymore without pausing to sigh sadly. "And even though you didn't want to, you would have to tell her to text him back because all you could do was hope that this was the last Saturday night love song she fell for. The thing is......

I tried to write about you. I tried to write stories and poetry but in the end they turned into love stories and love poetry. I didn't want to write love stories or love poetry about you. I just wanted to write stories and poetry. You evaded my thoughts, turned the colour pink to rose petals and the colour yellow to sunshine. You turned the colour blue to your eyes and the colour green to mine that got lost in them. I couldn't just write for you anymore, I had to write and fall. I had to fall for you. Love, love, love. What a foolish state to be; transforming colours into motifs. Next time, don't allow the poet to fall in love with you. Love will transcend, love will evade and love will write love stories and love poetry about you. And your eyes will never be so blue.

This house is not a home; Not when these bones are cold, not when my insomnia is a possible side effect of 'all alone.'  Especially not when I'm begging you to love me and you're saying no. This house won't become a home until you make it so.

I don't want him, and I can't have you. And I tried to spend the night by myself but you invaded my thoughts. I wanted you here, I wanted you to keep me up all night complaining about how cold my room is or that you can't sleep with just one pillow. He likes the cold and he doesn't care about how many pillows I give him. I don't want him, but I can't have you. I don't need him, and you won't come running. Do you think I would spend the night pining after you, miserable, when he could be at home in my bed? I wanted to tell you what was going on but you can't look at me without anything but sympathy anymore. He doesn't listen but he kisses me to fill the silence instead. I don't need him, but you won't come running. I don't understand him, and you're not here. I can listen to him complain about women and I can deal with it when he says he can't walk me home because he's too tired. I can't expect every boy to treat me as kindly as you did when we were still best friends. I have to learn that, and he's here to teach me.  I don't understand him, but you're not here. I don't love him, and you don't love me. But, I can't be alone. I can't spend my nights crying because you don't love me. So I'll take what he gives me. You can't tell me he's using me for my body while also telling me you don't love me because I need one or the other. You can't make any moredecisions for me when everything I do is to get away from the thought of you. I don't love him. How could I? I'm too busy loving you.