She mentions your name
and I lie alone in bed
listening to our songs
and letting our memories fly through my head.
I look at it over and over and over again,
always landing on the day you left.
And the funny thing is
I don’t miss you.
At least, not like I used to.
My mind no longer aches for you.
My heart no longer breaks for you.
it breaks for her instead.
I see her wasting away after you
and I wish I could send her my recipe
to show her how to heal:
A generous helping of clarity
and two cups of self-respect
mixed together until her smile becomes real again.
But I know all too well there is no book with a cure
for a heart broken by you.
So as she is listening to her songs
and letting her memories fly through her head
I am lying alone in my bed
wishing there was something I could do.
you fall asleep with his fingertips burning through your skin and you can still feel his teeth pressed against yours long after he’s dropped you off at home and his voice lights up in your head and pushes away everything that could possibly be bad. He’s everything now. And god everything tastes so good. But six months later you come home shaking, followed by a trail of blood and teardrops, and your happiness is leaking out of you into a puddle on the floor and you’re down on your knees trying to shove it all back into your chest while you scream “OH GOD MOM HE KISSED HER OH GOD”
my sixth grade english teacher told me not to make anyone my world and I thought she was crazy till last night (via extrasad)