Flowers

I still write notes to you sometimes in all my favourite places.

I guess i’m just hoping that one day you’ll come looking for me again,

and you’ll know where to find me.

Don’t you remember

when we held the stars together

and slow-danced in the middle of moonlit streets? Now

I’m having a hard time finding the difference between the pieces of you

and the pieces of my heart.

Our names were written on foggy mirrors,

in smudged paint,

but you told me that it’s possible

to find in the beauty in anything.

And I’m trying.

I’m trying.

I’m trying.

Actually, I find your eyes beautiful

and maybe that's the problem.

I could swear they're the same shade

as the sky was the first time you kissed me.

Isn't it funny that we reserve spots in our hearts for the dead?

There is so much life we could love,

but we always go back to the ones

who have done everything to prove that

they don't deserve it.

Anyways,

I’ve covered my room in flowers since

you left.

Although, I don’t think they're beautiful enough for you.