i.
He was fire and I was ice so I should have known it was only a matter of time one of us was burnt, so please try to ignore the blood by the door; it's just the remnants of a broken heart that's still bleeding
ii.
Sometimes, when I look in the mirror in the mornings, while my contacts aren't in and the world is still a blur, I imagine I'm happy. That my memories aren't littered with muffled laughter and crumpled bedsheets.
iii.
Your sister came by today. She took the last of your things. Your mug was on the dish rack, the one she'd gotten you for your birthday with your star-sign decorating the smooth black ceramic. I caught her eying it pointedly before she left so I gave it to her with trembling fingers and words jammed into my throat and a jerky nod farewell.
iv.
I used to think my heart would stop beating if you ever walked away, so sure that my death would come from a broken heart. Because how can it possibly keep beating when my soul had become so in tune with yours, that the thrumming of my heart spelled the very syllables of your name.
YOU ARE READING
stardust & silk
Poetrya series of poetry i've written throughout the years that somehow comes together to tell a story
