you wrote me love letters from the passenger seat,
pressing stars to my eyelids and hearts to my forehead.
you wrote me lies.
like the summer months, you never stick around long enough to make a lasting impression.
winter always takes over, cold
fingertips washing away all past evidence of the blistering friction once there.
(the only way I made it through was remembering that
youre only another calendar away; that youll come back.
I dont think Ill make it through this time.)
Id write you every word in the french-english dictionary if only one would spark a memory.
you seem unable to reminisce and incapable of nostalgia.
(really, I think theyre powers you passed onto me, increasing mine tenfold.)
youre like something acidic, burning in my throat.
but all the way down, youre smoldering the word
you held me close with trembling hands,
telling me how I was your living reincarnation of
(I was the only one who noticed that they all just
explode in a shimmery mist of magic, forgotten