The soup

burns

and I

starve.

Even before I could feel it I would look at you and be told my expressions watching you were interesting.

I want to hold you like rosary beads

Wrapped around my hands held in prayer as I whisper things meant only for you.

You look so beautiful dressed in golden sunlight.

I swear the warmth you give off will forever outshine her rays.

We must have had multiple lives of knowing each other, because only that could create a bond so sticky thick.

You're like honey, sticky and sweet and soothing.

Even on your coldest nights, when you're colored silver instead of gold, you're more beautiful than anything around you.

Standing on the rock overlooking our world, my gaze will always return to you.

And when I die

I will live in another

In this universe I love you

And when I die

A painting made of strings of green and gold

Hands that latch onto me

Even when I sleep

We will not grow old together

Maybe not even grow old at all

But my hands will hold on our pictures

Till they're as wrinkled as I am

And just as torn

You will be a memory one day

One I will craddle

And crumble

Until only the colors of your veins

Are what I can remember

And the crease in the corners of your eyes

I want to write you sappy little love poems so cliche you cringe.

I want to write you poems that manage to translate arabic poetry into english.

I want to write you poems you could read in the stars as constellations.

I want to write you poems that taste sweet like the juiciest apple.

I want to write you poems that feel like snow touching your cheeks.

I want to write you poems that feels like sun warming your skin.

I want to write you poems that smell like fresh maple sugar cookies.

I want to write you poems that sound like how you play piano.

I want to write you poems that are only felt, not heard.

I want to write you the most beautiful poem.

People are divided. You have the people that say things like, "you're kind," or "you make me laugh." You also have the people that give you full memories, like "when you smiled at me under the moonlight," or "when you held me when I cried."

In truth, I can go either way, at least to an extent. You always make me laugh, but of course you do, why would I love someone that didn't make happy? And of course I can list memories, but they aren't perfect.

The reason I like you is because of how you make me feel. Coming from someone who struggles to remember emotions after I felt them, the fact I remember how happy I was singing in the car with you, or how terrified I felt after our biggest fight, or how nervous I felt when you first put your head on my shoulder, or how content I felt staying up telling secrets at sleepovers.

I look back at these memories of us and don't picture them, I just feel them. You make me feel pink and gold. You make me feel green and purple. You make me feel red.

I remember what your heart feels like beneath my ear and what your hug smells like despite only hugging about three times in the four years I've known you. I know how your hair feels when I braid it and how your skin feels when I left tattoo ink branded on you. I know how your tired voice feels as it rumbles in your throat and how your voice crumbles when you laugh and cry at the same time.

I have memories of friends, but I have feelings from those I have loved. I have tastes, like the ramen you taught me to put in the microwave for three minutes or the watermelon vodka we chugged. The texture of your rough hands in mine on the rare chance we met. The sound of the lullabies you always played at night. The smell of your house that your dogs caused despite being clean. The sight of you dancing while cooking or posing with a cheeze-it can.

I know I have loved someone when I look back at our time together and feel them, like a hand on my back, guiding me. I don't care how we ended, only how we existed.

So when someone asks me, "why do you like me," I don't know how to respond. Do I tell them it's because their hands are hot or because I i remember them making me angry? Do I tell them it's because the taste of their brownies still sticks to my mouth or because their shower pressure still hits me sometimes? Because their air mattress still makes my hands feel weird or their favorite flavor still makes me scrunch my nose?

Everyone knows we're made of stardust. 65% oxygen, 18.5% carbon. 3.3% nitrogen, give or take. Iron, phosphorus, calcium- the stars are us and we are the stars.

But did you know it's possible the hydrogen and lithium that runs through us originated from the BigBang?

We aren't just made of the universe, we're made of each other.

I cook my ramen like you. I've stolen your laugh. I write because of you. My favorite spots were all yours. I still play the game you showed me. My hair is stained by your hands.

I think of you when I put too much chapstick on. I think of you when I bare my teeth. I think of you when I see bunnies. I think of you when I read Batman.

I am my mothers nose. My fathers eyes. My grandmothers hands and my grandfathers lungs. My family's name.

My freckles are where you kissed in a past life, o' soulmate of mine. My teeth are crooked where you punched them a thousand years ago. My hair is parted from where you braided it in my first life. My hands are creased from each time I held onto my world and squeezed, not knowing if I'd see you next time.

I am built of love and hate.

My existence is built on others. Just because you are gone doesn't mean you are extinguished. There will always be traces of you in me. A star will burn and when it' done its energy does not get destroyed. It finds open palms and warm skin and heartbeats and rebuilds.

I'll linger in you, just like how you linger in me. Maybe it'll be how you cook ramen, or how you dye your hair. Maybe you'll remember me when putting on chapstick or when you see bunnies. Maybe I'll never know how I've entwined with you.

I am built of people who, even for a single second, I have loved. Whether it's the cashier I met once and called me beautiful or the best friend who stood with me or the pretty boy I just want to hug. Whether it's someone who if I saw them on the street they'd curse me out now or someone who would hug me.

I have loved you.

I still love you, even if only in my memories. Even if only for what you've left me with.

I hope you can love people. Just for being 65% oxygen, 18.5% carbon, 3.3% nitrogen, give or take. Just for being themself. Just for smiling or crying or laughing or breathing. Just because.

To those I leave behind,

I love you. And I hope you love yourself too.

When are you going to leave? When are you going to take it all back?

Can someone truly look at me and think of holding hands in sun-lit rocking chairs on an old porch?