The raccoons fighting outside of my window sound like children being lowered into vats of boiling water and the sound of this song reminds me of your face in my hands. The indent you left on the pillow and the smell that rubbed its way along me as I curled into the sheets on your bed. Over shitty diner coffee you come alive for me and I feel sixteen again with your name on my lips. The tears never dried and the rip inside of my vocal cords has never healed quite right after all of those lonely nights screaming into my blankets.
I told you once what you did to me. I told you of the six year marathon I ran to get to you. I told you everything and no one stopped me, even though they knew it was meaningless. But at least you know. You know I loved you and you know what you were to me. You were golden days and painful nights. You were tears never wasted and the reason for years of sad poetry. You were a novel waiting to happen that people will read and see you as I did.
Once you said you’d loved twice in your life and that I was one of them. That was a pretty lie.