She missed the days where they would let the sunlight adorn their faded lavender hair.
The days where she chased her around their small apartment because she put salt in her tea instead of sugar (those days came by a lot).
The days where they just laid in bed with tangled limbs, coffee rings staining the side-table and a thin mattress with the springs sticking out.
The days which consisted of nothing but staring competitions and soft kisses on the bridge of each other's noses.
Those were the days when they both knew how to smile without tears stinging their eyes and their throats closing up.
The days where their laughing attacks didn't end up in panic attacks and the days where they both didn't know what sadness tasted like.
Oh, what days those were, Skipping around New York City with only cheap jean jackets and chests full of love and affection.
Diving in lakes without thinking of drowning and blue lips and chattering white teeth,
Going on rooftops to watch the sunset without the thoughts of jumping and crushing their bones.
They were the happiest, driving around San Francisco with intertwined fingers and black coats that cost too much, laughing their days away.
The first time they tasted sadness was when they drove around California, the snow haired days and nothing but coffee scalding their mouths.
Leather jackets and cigarette smoke and bruised lips.
Stopping at shitty diners and petrol stations and staying in cheap motels which smelled like stale cigarettes.
She missed the wind in her hair and the smell of new cities.
She missed being carefree and she missed her. It all ended too soon, didn't it?
YOU ARE READING
asphalt
Poetry"though your skin's sheet white and your arms carry scars, your hair isn't clean much and your lungs black with tar and god, you love to argue and you can't play guitar but still let me tell you that I love who you are." 2014
