I have a thing for people with beauty in them. Eventually the sound of your paintbrush became replaced by the sound of her clarinet. The scars on your thighs, that I used to trace with my fingers, replaced by the scars on her heart, that I touched with my words. The darkness of your soul, the darkness of her mind.
I found beauty in another person, and it erased parts of you.
Her giggles overpowered the memory of your laugh. Her blonde hair, your dark curls. And in her sapphire eyes, I forgot the shade of yours. Her rain is soft and gentle and warm, a spring shower. Yours, a winter storm that stung my skin.
I have left a barren land of ice and regret.
A land where nothing can bloom.
I walk in fields of wildflowers with sunshine on my face.
Your were the death of me,
perhaps she is my resurrection.