I wanted to write you a poem. But every time I'd think of a rhyme, all I could remember is how your lips taste like. It was a mix of coffee and something like mint. You preferred coffee over tea unlike me on days our hearts don't want to compromise. I wanted to write you a poem but I couldn't think of similes or metaphors for your eyes or hands because all I wanted was to look at you and be held by your warmth. I miss you. I miss the way you look at me. I miss your long, tight hugs. I wanted to write you a poem but I couldn't write a word to describe you without shedding a single tear. I was deeply hurt. Thought you ought know.
You knew and you just didn't care.
I wanted to write a poem about how much I loved the sound of your laughter. If I wwere a songwriter, I'd make notes out of it and I'm pretty sure it would top all the charts. It was a mix of autumn and winter. Subtle and calming. I wanted to write a poem about how your voice shakes my entire system but I didn't know if I could still go on.
I'm hurt. I'm deeply hurt.
I wanted to write a poem about how much I love you but I wasn't very sure if you did love me, too. I couldn't even find parts of me anymore. Maybe I left them at your place, under the sheets maybe, or in between your shelves. I wanted to write a poem about you and I but I didn't know if there was one. I wanted to write a poem about everything that has ever happened but I wanted to wake up from this bad dream.
I never asked for heartache. I never asked for it.
I wanted to write a poem about how I missed you but it turned into prose—of how much I love you. I wanted to write a poem but the measures and lines were missing; my mind's out of place, it's on a haywire. I wanted to write a poem of a story that was finished before it has even begun.
I wanted to write you a poem.
Believe me, I wanted to.
If we ever meet, I just wanted to ask you,
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