Unrequited

It’s kind of sad, you know? Because I would have written your story out of specks of cloud and streaks of light. I would have carried our love around like a blanket in our trunk, making sure to cover your shoulders if the cold ever got jealous. I wouldn't love you the way they do in movies because it wouldn't just meet your eyes and warm your heart. No, it would plant seeds beneath your skin and show you the rain forest soul you cleanse my life with every day.


In a world where you don’t think you deserve much, I’d show you that the sky concaves because of your gravity. How your fingertips cause the thunderstorms in my heart. How I never loved a word until it spelled out your name.


I look at you and feel the storm brewing and now can only wish that your ship was lost in my sea.

SM.

You still find a way to creep into my subconscious and rope my dreams together. Like a silk gown that you wear when you slip into my bed. I don't want you there but you're there anyway. Face framed so perfectly by old memories that I can't turn you away. Your lips, as long as boats, try hard to not sink this illusion. Your lips, the colour of that spot of pink found on the cheeks of peaches when they blush. I lived in a constant state of pinks and reds around you.

Why is it that you're more alive in my dreams today than you were in my life two years ago? In my dreams you aren't that insecure girl. You're warm and forgiving and you seep through me like warm golden sand through fingers. I remember how your fragile body always had to be near mine and how you'd smile at almost everything I'd say. God, that smile would cut right through me.

I figured that God made you so beautiful to hide what was actually there, a darkness so consuming that it still dims my light today. I won't shine as bright for anyone else and I think that's what's so different about a first love; it's the first to eat up all your resources, leaving your crop fields bare. Even then, I'd lie in it all day with you, like when you were hungover and the only thing that would make you feel better was resting your head on my lap.

That's the shitty part, the memories, because they're the biggest liars of them all. Accumulating into dreams where you come to meet me and slip into my bed night after night. I miss you, but I don't. You were everything I wanted and nothing at all. Still, you saw my light when it shone the brightest. You're permanently inked into my skin. You wore me down like soles on cheap shoes. And you hang around, not asking for a second chance, but claiming it.

I want to know when I'll get my dreams back. Because as much as I love having you around, I've come to learn the difference between missing you and missing a memory.