You had always been, a constant. A constant kind of pain, a constant kind of obsession. I was in stupid love with every inch of your being. You'd consume my soul in battered pieces. Rip me to shreds, then stitch me whole again. Some nights, nowadays, are lonely. I miss your throaty laugh, the cynical jokes you'd crack about the girl you once loved, and the grey of your eyes. I'd give anything to feel your insidious kisses again, ones that would seep through my skin, and fill my heart with iridescent poetry. I long to hear your cheesy rhymes about love, and the way you'd laugh when I didn't understand trigonometry. We made a fire each time we met, and yet, an intangible halo remained, a subtle darkness that took away the little light we managed to make. We were a perfect match, we were meant to burn out.
