I wrote a poem, once.

I wrote a poem once. It went on to say how perfect you were, and how I couldn’t breathe without you. Life went on, somehow I worked out a way to work out alone.  When I close my eyes it feels like home again. With or without you. I run and I scream and I cry and I laugh. I smile. Because it happened, and because i’m still here. I was the sun trapped behind the stars. You still shine the brightest, and i hate that. others shine too, now. This is a change i am willing to take, one of few.  I see planets and comets and the moon dancing with the water in puddles I splash through. 

I wrote a poem once. It began with ‘if you were a melody..’, it ended with ‘you’d be the one that beats my heart’, and you’re still there, though I try to block this out. I wrote a poem once. It went on to say how perfect you were, and how I couldn’t breathe without you. I gave it to you and I know you’ve lost it – along with that irrevocable memory that I fall asleep to every night. The night I came to your window at 5am, and you felt perfect to me in every way. I put you in my pocket and took you everywhere.  I wrote a poem once, this is yet another, but this one is different. It goes on to say how perfect are, but love is blind, and has no eyes to see. If you were a melody, I’d try not to listen.