My Poetry Book 2

thirty six

August 4, 2015

You tell me you love me like you love the stars and that i am much better than any star you've encountered. I say it back without even having to think about it. I've loved you my whole life- or so it seems. We keep walking as the horizon is painted a million different colors at once. I cannot get enough of it. Not even Picasso could make something look so beautiful. You tell me we need to get going, that we can't stay here all night. But why wouldn't we stay here all night? If we leave, we'll miss the best part of the day. I tell you I need to keep watching as life is a beautiful work of art, begging to be noticed. Detail and intricate designs hide within the things we see everyday, the things we take for granite.

I make myself take my eyes off of the sunset and you're greatful that we can keep going.

Weeks later, after countless I love you's, I realize the power you have over me. You are my drug but the high never lasts forever. You take me to my highest point and my lowest point but your arms around me take me home and why is that?

Not even a week later, you're screaming at me, hurting me, but bringing me back into reality. I see now that maybe you're darker than I thought. You slam the door behind you, shutting what we had out completely. I don't want to believe the truth and that is that you can hurt me. I know you said you'd never dream of it but things never go as planned.

So months later, our loose ends untied, my heart still shattering and I miss your frozen love. Nostalgia is a bïtch for tricking me into believing what we had was great at all points. Our edges were torn and jagged, and our hands were bloody and scraped. I need you but I don't want you anymore.

- (m.m)