2am at the beach and i showed you my notebook and you read the poems i never dared acknowledge
3am at your place and you're hovering on all fours, whispering that you love me
4am at the bar and we're giggling from one long island too many
6am in the forest and you tell me about your fears and i tell you about mine
9am in a coffeeshop and you crack puns over cigarettes and cofee
1pm at work and you show up with a keychain that reminded you of me
9pm, at my house, on my bed, and my pocket vibrates saying you're leaving -
- i suppose it started that day, at 2am, when i smiled and let you read over my shoulder -
when you stopped being two eyes and four limbs and instead
became the dust before my eyes and the air in my lungs.
hell is loving you in my sleep and waking up to a cold bed
hell is your clothes in cardboard boxes and the ring you gave me miles away
(this morning i woke up and reached for my phone before i remembered)
(good morning, i wanted to say, wake up, don't be late for work, i love you, i miss you, i'll see you later)
(please come back)
