The summer in winter

His touch was a
transitory evocation
of summer days.
You could almost smell
the promise of heat and
passion. As the winter
coldness kisses my face,
I think of his breath like
the summer breeze
whipping salt unto my skin.

To this day, 14 months
and 2,756 miles away,
no one makes me
ache like you.


My body revolts against itself just so it could miss you. Tag that person you’re missing right now. #officiallymissingyou

#bemymuse 33, as requested by @pessimist_romantic

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Cloaked in fancy paint

I asked the gorgeous girl
behind the counter at the mall
to give me a new face.

She did a lovely job masking the
flaws of my skin and drawing out
my features in pink and ivory gleam,
turning me into someone who turns
heads. But even she couldn’t blot and
blend the heartache from my face.

*#ivorygleam
For #artlixirpoetrychallenge hosted by @artlixirpoetry.

To the boy across the ocean

The ocean knows my heartache,
it understands how it is to barely
touch, before drifting back to the
other, the separation and the
infinite back and forth of
fleeting clandestine moments,
the daily endings and beginnings,
the torture of converging
but never being able to stay.

*For day 14 #theloveletterproject

Heartache

I know that there will be days when you want to die. Everything feels heavy and your body will ache with numbness. You’ll lock yourself in your room, feel the weight of the entire world sink into your skin. You’ll text him and tell him you miss him. Your friends will make fun of how quiet you’ve become. You’ll them you’re tired. You’ll tell them you haven’t slept. You don’t tell them about the burn in your chest.. how breathing becomes a burden.. how soft death looks like.

These are days, however, will pass. The nights will still be long, but you’ll wake up feeling light again. You’ll feel your wings grow out of your back, feel the stars at the tip of your fingers.

One day, you’ll forget what all that weight felt like, what thinking of death felt like, what thinking of him felt like. Yes, one day.

*As requested by @brimart2015 for #bemymuse no. 15

Tragedy

There is nothing romantic about a love that used to be, a love that happened, and then ended, just like everything else in the world. People often romanticize tragedy, like the kiss that almost was, the “maybe” that could have been but will remain a “what if” forever. There is nothing beautiful about something that once was, but died. Disappeared. Ended. Failed.