The poem goes like this.
He runs his thumb across your lips and makes you lose your breath.
You give him every inch of you until there is nothing left.
You wake up next to him with the sheets tangled in your legs.
He shows you his favourite music and it never leaves your head.
But soon his kisses are cold and his eyes don’t shine the same way.
And you eat dinner in silence because there’s nothing left to say.
He is the poem, and he goes like this:
Out through the front door,
without looking back.
Maybe it’s the time or the place or just us. The lack of communication or lack of trust. Maybe it’s just life throwing love under the bus. Maybe it’s just not now or not soon or not ever. Maybe two people aren’t meant to end up together. Maybe it’s not enough to just sleep with your sweater. Maybe it’s the distance or the longing or the lust. It could be anything but I think it’s just us.
MAYBE TWO PEOPLE AREN’T MEANT TO END UP TOGETHER (k.p.k)
You don’t know they exist. You are unaware that they are on this Earth. You wake up, you brush your teeth, you do whatever it takes to make it through the day, you lay in bed and play out fantasies of finally finding the right comeback when somebody is mean to you and the like, and then you sleep, and everything starts over again.
Then you meet them. You might know it right then, or you might not, but God, you are in love with them. It’s the little things. You keep checking your phone to see if they have messaged you. You find yourself having to read the same sentence three times because you were too busy wondering if they were thinking about you too. And when you do talk to them, it’s better than it even is in your head and the way they smile sticks your tongue to the top of your mouth. Maybe you’re too scared to hold eye contact for too long because they might see how you’re feeling, but looking away makes you feel weak and when the blush creeps up your neck onto your cheeks, it’s too warm and uncomfortable and you wish you had just kept looking at them instead.
You’re going to kiss them. The first kiss probably won’t be that good. You might both tilt your head to the right and then awkwardly both shift to the left to try to get the angle just perfect. There might be too much saliva involved and you quickly wipe your mouth against your sleeve the second they avert their eyes. Maybe your mouth will be too dry because you are nervous and all you can focus on is how quietly they kiss, like this moment between the two of you is a secret. Don’t worry. The first time will not be the best time, and even the best time will not be the best time, because each and every kiss will change as your feelings change. Love is a learning process, and you’re going to be fine.
This is how they’re going to go.
You’re going to open your eyes one day and your phone will have been silent since you plugged it in at night. You are going to roll over and realize that everywhere you are not laying feels like the cool side of the pillow. You’re going to shower alone for the first time in months. You forgot how much work it is to wash your hair. When you go on drives, you realize how bad you are at directions and finding where you are supposed to go. It’s the little things. Their laugh, that you thought was so funny and unique when you heard is, is suddenly the loudest noise at any crowded event you go to. It’s never going to be them, so stop straining your neck. You’re going to stop comparing their heart to the flowers you pass on your way to work in your head and you won’t even realize it. You are going stop waiting up until you are too tired to keep your eyes open. Love is a learning process. You’re going to be fine.
I miss who I was before I met you. Every time I napped in your arms I left a part of my heart next to your lips on the pillow. Every time I woke up next to you I gave a part of my soul to the sunshine across your cheeks. Trying to remember who I was before you ever came into my life is trying to crawl into the skin of a stranger on the street, is trying to break into a home that is not my own to steal their belongings, is trying to become best friends with a person I have long since stopped talking to. I miss the person I was before I ever held your hands against my throat. I miss the person I was before I ever let your pulse beat against the scars on my body. I miss the person who never met you - because they would never have to miss you like I do.
I wonder why I can never take my own advice. How I can look at people like the sun shines out of them and then look at myself and wonder how I can hold so many storm clouds in my fists. The most terrifying thing about unhappiness is when it becomes an old friend. You hear it knock and you just let it in. I’m trying to think of these moods as old clothes these days. One day I’ll grow out of it. One day it won’t be mine anymore. One day I’ll look in the mirror and wonder how that could have even fit who I was once upon a time. But you can’t wait for that day to come like you’re sitting at the train station with your bags packed, ready to go as soon as it pulls up. Its like walking the same distance the train would go with the bags on your shoulders until you gain the strength to realize they aren’t heavy anymore.
You can’t just decide to hold me whenever you arms feel empty. You can’t just lean over and kiss the dip from my neck to my shoulders whenever you’re feeling lonely. I’m not that reward you get whenever you finish your chores. I’m not the way your bed feels after you’ve decided to wash the sheets. I’m that sunrise that burns your eyes in the morning while you’re trying to drive to work. I’m the coffee that burns your throat on the way down but, God, does it taste good. I know you’re reaching for your phone at ten o'clock on a Friday and you’re undoing your jeans but I’m that feeling you get in the back of your stomach when you realize you don’t remember my number. You don’t get to love me on your terms.
I was hurting so much, I thought my heart might have bled on your arm. This morning, my ears were ringing so badly I tried to turn off my alarm. I swear I’m trying to move on but a circle has no fucking beginning. Listen closely and you can hear my teeth shake every time you catch me grinning.
i gave you everything. heart stitched with string, full to the brim, breaking over and over again. i gave you every part of me, whole or not. i guess i loved you a lot. i didn’t believe in magic till i saw the night sky lighting up and felt your voice in my very core as you told stories about how the constellations were formed. if i could name our star, i’d name her after the soft touch of your fingers and the sharp edge of your heart. i called you goddamn art. said i’d move the stars. i gave you everything. washed myself clean, forgot the places we’d been, still couldn’t get you off of me. it’s been so long and yet i still read you in poems and see your colours in paintings and i gave you everything, and all i can say now is that i don’t even want it all back. you can keep it. you can keep everything.
You can fall in love with somebody, learn their weird habits,
(like the way you like your kitchen plates stacked),
and get settled into their life comfortably like
their arms are your messy bed,
(you made your bed every day even though nobody
ever came to your apartment but me. I think
you were trying to make a metaphor for
having your life in order).
But you can never really know somebody until you
learn how they deal with loss,
(you shook in my lap like you had just watched
one of those scary movies you hate),
and see if they still treat themselves the same
once you can no longer touch toes
underneath the covers.
(My feet are cold. I hope you’re doing okay).
I’ve been trying not to write about you because you make me sad, but I think that if I don’t, I’ll start wanting things I’ll later regret. It makes no sense to me how badly I cling to the way you wrote about my eyes when you also wrote words that made me cry. It makes no sense that I still can’t look at your name without hating myself sometimes, when you always felt as if you could walk in and out of my life. With the way you left me, you’d think I’d have moved on by now, but there are times when it hits me so vigorously I can’t move; I was never a constant to you. I’ve always believed you should never put your trust into other people, because they’ll turn around with a wicked smile, and they’ll crush you till you can’t be repaired. Maybe it’s true that no one else can break you. Maybe I did it all by myself. But either way, I put my trust in you and you left it shattered on the floor. It’s been gathering dust. And you, like a book left unopened on a shelf so high up, you’re gathering dust, too. And maybe sometimes I’m tempted to delve back into your pages, but I think overall I’d rather not. I shouldn’t have let you affect me like this. But it’ll be okay. You’re gathering dust and I’ll be fine with that someday.