Only know you’ve been high when you’re feeling low

I remember you.
The lines on your face.
The crease of your smile.
The constant wetness of your eyes.
I think of you,
I miss you,
I write to you,
I write of you.

I say I can’t help it:
that it’s the wind, the sun, the stars
the love we had, the pain we felt
that makes us real.
Makes me want to dig through
the shoebox in my head
that holds the sound of your laughter
and the loss in your eyes whenever you saw me go.

But
that is not all it is.
I don’t remember you because I have to.
There is no gun to my head
or knife on my arm.
I remember you
because it feels good, this hurt.
It feels good to bleed out on these pages in blue,
to kill myself thinking of you
and the pixie dust you carry
that makes (made?) every moment with you magical.

Because even the memory of you
is the best thing
I ever had.

Because even the memory of you
is enough.

Title: Passenger. Let her go.

Advertisements

Penny for your thoughts?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s