Dried petals

#3

There are days
when your love
is a feather on
my palm, the
softest of all.
And there are
others when it's
a mountain
crushing down on
me, bringing every
dream I built to
ruins. I loved you
in pieces so I
stayed every
midnight waiting to
add another bit of
you to what my
hands spent days
digging for, just to
have it slip right
under my feet.
I'm the girl whose
fingers are covered
in blisters and
bruises because she
tried to catch love
everytime it passed by,
and you are the boy
who has dry blood
stuck in his nails
from scratching on
his back to erase the
leftovers that the
rainbow carved
on his skin every
morning.  my lips get
glued to one another
whenever your eyes
demand an answer
that could be the
beginning of an
incomplete story,
for I learned to love
in silence and spit
all my feelings in my
inkwell. but this
time my quill only
moves to write the
letters of your name
over and over till
there's no paper for
me to fill. I loved
you knowing our
end is ash, for you
were fire and I a
matchstick
and we both were
meant to burn.