we have never tried out this road

it was the melodies fault.

it was my throat's fault

it was it was it was it was it was

history.

my cup sits lonely on the counter

stronger tools for our precious tensions

watching me undress, now we're swapping clothes

words sounding familiar

we turn into a yes yes yes yes yes

music playing in the ca-are you watching us?

she is thinking something.

you're begging me not to skip over youuuuuuuu

you'll hear it from body language first.

finally let it sink in that things have changed that I will cry. I will cry for a long time and I won't feel bad or upset or scared or lonely or worried or angry or regret or depressed. I will feel happy. Lucky to have a picture like that to cry about, to have people that I care for so much and love so deeply.

“I’ve never seen you scared…”

I thought that that explosion of light would be the last before everything winked out. And I thought that it would all wink out with you right next to me. I thought that that was the end. Not of me and you, but of everything. In a way it was. Or maybe it was the end of nothing. I don’t have an answer, so I lift my chin at you and narrow my eyes, smirking softly. I don’t know when I figured it out, but I know it makes you crazy. Not that that matters. You’re already excited. I can feel it. I can taste it. I’m breathing it in. You’ve never seen me scared, but I’ve never seen you so excited. Your eyes give me a once over, smiling like you’ve accomplished something impossible. Like that moment I held on to you a little tighter, the moment the lights sped by too fast and I thought that it was the end, ignited something you’d been waiting to set ablaze. You tip your head back then shake it in disbelief.

“Oh my god. I fucking love it.”

She looks good in blue.

The blues you leave behind when you leave her, the shape of a belt along her back, a blue reminder of who's who to her.

She looks good in blue, when she's in your shirt, navy or flannel or sky blue, pulled off your back to wrap her in your scent.

She looks good in blue, when you're gone, and she misses you, melancholy honey that drops off her tongue and on to a page, while the ocean drips on to the latest shirt she kept.

Beautiful only when she’s splayed out on the blue sheets you ruin her on, time and time again.

She looks best underneath you, blue no longer.