You are the poem I keep coming back to... I reread and recite each syllable of you... I trail my fingers over the curves of your letters, carefully. Not tainting your perfect untouched silhouette... I realize how close you are to me and this gives me a strange sense of hope.... The rain drops that touched my face that week will one day touch yours or maybe have touched yours already and we are under the same sky as I stare at the moon late at night as thoughts of you scurry across my mind... The scars you left on me have a blue-ish glow and my feelings for these are uncertain, I appreciate that you gave me something I will have forever... But I wish that I didn't have to carry around these messes of torn skin, new loves will ask about these I will have to say "I loved him, I loved him more than I loved myself and I wrote him too many poems on my skin and when he left he ripped them from me" you are not something I regret for these blue-ish scars will one day be kissed by someone who has their own.
