I spend a lot of time missing you
but even more thinking about
what I could have done to make you stay.
Most days, I feel like more poison than girl,
more fury than fire, more sex than touch,
making out on your best friend’s couch
the second he went upstairs,
making out because it was the only thing
we could bear to do with our mouths.
Everyone tells me it isn’t my fault,
that leaving me on the cold hard pavement
was cowardly, and I can’t say I disagree,
but in the end, you didn’t destroy me.
We destroyed each other.
We’d flash our supernova hearts
disguised as teeth,
finding comfort in the explosion
because it didn’t make us bleed.
We did a lot of things I’m not proud of.
But we loved much harder
than I could have ever imagined
loving anybody ever, and I think
“fuck you” is just another way of saying
I wish we could have survived this.
— This is just a fancy way of saying I miss you and I wish you were here and I wish you had stayed and I shouldn’t be thinking these things anymore but I am anyway