I saw her face today
I saw her gleaming eyes
I saw her
I saw the love of my life

I did, as I could
I followed you
And I do, I do, still love you

First.
She wasn’t, she wasn’t worth much besides the words she wrote on public
Forms and the love she gave to no one besides the men she slept with
I know, I’m aware, truly, I am no one to determine the worth of another person
but, she knows, too
I don’t know whom she loves, why she loves, nor if she loves at all, she only wants to live it large, and she’d do anything to have it all. Who wouldn’t if given the chance?
I thought I loved her but I didn’t I only want to lay on her bed and watch her undress by her desk where’d she sit half naked, writing about everyone but me
I don’t think of her much now, this may be, the very last time I write about her, what is there to a kiddie pool other than a little water and a little piss.

Steady, steady, drop, drop, drip
Drip, slip, slip,
Fall, fall, falling
Dying; dead
Pathetic
I felt as if the universe was revolting inside me
The first time I saw you, it was meant to rain, I was racing downtown to meet my mother at the train station.
There you waited for your bus in the parking lot.
When my eyes came across yours my mind was somewhere else, in the ocean, I think. When I realized this you were already halfway back to New York.
On my way home, I kept thinking about your eyes, and how they seemed to be the only colour I saw. They weren’t blue, I’m not going to tell you they were as blue as the sea, or as cloudy as the sky. The sea’s only blue around the middle of the ocean and I haven’t been out there, yet. Doesn’t it just exhaust you when they try to write about what they do not know? What they have not felt?

4hrs and 17mins later

I’m sorry; I tried to sleep away my anger
But I woke up with a headache and I hate myself more than I did when I first put myself to sleep
Understand and that I do not understand what’s going on. Perhaps I’m ungrateful but I’m also cursed with loving you.
My eyes are closed and I’m typing this hardly awake and hardly asleep and hardly aware and hardly rational but that’s okay because a lot of the times my heart is right here at my finger tips or right on the tip of my tongue and I speak on it when most of the time I shouldn’t. People don’t know how to handle tasting that sort of love with a little kiss, how can you be sure what someone’s intentions are unless you question them with your lips? The edge of the jaw, their bare throat, you have to know what to pay attention to. Because it is all in the way they move it is not about the kiss it is the placement and the raw touch that will tell you everything you have to know, don’t be such a silly girl with that melting and mushy heart of yours, save it for the day when your windows were left open though that’s such a misleading term because you always prefer them that way, and you keep your lips clenched tight and touch your toes to the rain that’s soaking the washed boards beneath them and I know you’re thinking and I know you’re standing there with ankles, chest, fingers numb but stop thinking for the night and don’t say those words, don’t trip over the throbbing ache in your mouth I know it’s straining I know it’s tiring, you should have long ago been in bed but it’s not such a place at all for rest without a pair of knees to kiss your own. Don’t they always tell you it’s so foolish to need anyone else. Well so what if I just nudge out that word what if I get rid of the need and keep it for when it’s needed, no, no no I am not that vulnerable I do not need you but I crave you that’s more fitting does that keep things light on our toes enough, is that the right amount of emotion you’re looking for? And you’re happy on your own you’ve learned and you’ve wandered and you’ve shared late nights with the moon but doesn’t it seem silly when all you can quite think about is how those deep cheek bones might look in the night’s mouth and you wonder if the night keeps it’s heart on it’s tongue just like you do and if just maybe at the right time, just maybe there is a right time to say everything that you need to. There is that awful word again. But I do not want to need you, please believe that it may be the last choice I may make from this position, eyes glued to the dripping pane, waiting and impatient and wondering and barely at my knees barely crawling laying there split open for you to pick apart, I can’t help but to notice if you notice. No, but you might. I do not want to need you but tell me what it means to need someone when you are unsure of what you need? Tell me what it means to want without knowing how or feel without control, without pause and without any interruption even tasteful, when not even the salty tang against the tip of your tongue could quiet it. It is always that sort of night where if you were wise you’d curl into bed and let your analyzing and love drive you mad, but you’ve never been that type of girl. No, you want teeth sinking into every single place that makes you drip and stain your skin and lips and sheets and bones and fingers you want a constant reminder of things that might soon need to be forgotten, but you savor what you can get. And right now the blood on your lips, whether mine or your own, is enough for me to make the wrong choice maybe for one last night,

I’ll still love you in the morning
I’ll still love you the day and the month and the year after that

But I do understand one thing, I hope you do too
All love fades, but they all come back like ghosts
All I am