when my stats dating, I'll tell him about you.
I'll tell him about the girl with the smile like sunshine, laughter like wind chimes and a voice that sounded like she had an orchestra inside her throat.
I'll tell him about how we spoke about everything under the moon because our conversations usually took place at night when our hearts were on our sleeves and our minds lost their filters.
I'll tell him about how you left; about how i heard nothing from you for three months and it wasn't until i started losing weight and seep that i began to realize just how much power over me you had; about how i coughed up your name to anyone who asked how i was doing; about how you were my first thought when i woke up and my last before going to bed.
I'll tell him that i managed to move on.
I'll tell him that over time, you stopped feeling like the end of my world.
I'll tell him that i met his mother and couldn't be happier.
I'll tell him to watch out for girls like you, the girls that make gravity seem nonexistent.
The worst part about this not the pain I'm feeling.
It's the fact that a part of me hopes that you'll come back and i'll never have to tell this tale.
It's time like these that i have remember that you left, so now it's you that holds the pen.
I don't control our story.
