, but he killed me.
i. first light- i met you in a crimson forest.
it was a rose garden summer, and out of a black mercedes
you walked out, your five year old eyes greener than
you reached up to pluck a rose from its stem, and offered it to me.
"what's your name?"
daddy told me that i couldn't tell strangers my real name.
I looked at the rose in my hand.
you smiled, you were a seastorm of now long-gone innocence.
i didn't understand
but I knew.
ii. i forgot about you for
1562 days, 11 hours, and 22 minutes,
my name, but i didn't recognize you
until i saw your eyes.
iii. my father fell and didn't stand back up again.
i screamed, and you carried me home.
iv. i didn't talk for a week.
i stared at the gray of the sky. it was the color of my father's eyes.
you sat next to me in the pouring rain,
your warm hand on my knee,
then told me you would never leave me, not like my long gone
mother, whose smile i had never seen,
not like my
father, whose smile i will never again see.
i looked up
at you and your eyes, those eyes,
they told the truth, they held me close.
i stood up and walked inside.
v. i gave you all my pieces
i gave you everything i had and didn't have
you pieced me back together,
you close your eyes and hover your lips over mine, then lean back. your eyes flutter open.
what's wrong? i asked.
you look at me, but can't speak.
i close my eyes and hover my lips over yours, then lean forward.
we walked on the rising tide of a thousand stars
(don't aim at my heart, artemis whispered)
so why did the fall feel so lonely even with you?
we had always known that it wouldn't be forever.
vii. they took you halfway across the world
and i never thought that you would tell me to give up on you.
reach out and touch
the fragile moonrise. you will think about me, and you will know, every night, that i am doing
i saw you in a field of
dreams during the dawning of the universe.
you were a burning fire, but i embraced your flame.
i will never be afraid
ix. and you and i, we both knew that sunset was the saddest color.
x. i remember that day
all too well.
you said you were visiting for my birthday for an entire month.
(i should've known, i should've known)
you two were laughing, when his head slumped forward, and his hand lost grip on the wheel.
you didn't notice until it was too late
that his eyes were red-rimmed.
but you could see the airplanes already. (or was all it in your head)?
i'll make it., you thought, as you felt yourself flowing away in oceans of scarlet.
i won't., you thought, as you saw her face, one last time.
rose, you said, blood trickling down your cheek.
xi. what? i said quietly. there was only sobbing on the line. i ended the call, and crumpled onto my desk.
i saw his face every time i went to sleep. he would be there.
but i would try to save him. i would
lift him out of the car and dial 911 and try to tell the call-takers that
no, he's not dead, no, his eyes are open, and he's looking at me, and
i fell in love with icarus.
we flew, and we didn't know that we fell
until it was too late-
i close my eyes,
and let the atlantic wind blow across my face, and
i throw my name, my lifeline out into a sea the color of his eyes.
, and these roses will spend an eternity at the bottom of an ocean
a thousand scars deep.
we had always known that sunset was the saddest color.
i spent the next year as a shell.
people would ask me if i was okay, and i would
smile. i would say, yes! i had a wonderful day.
but at night, he always came back to haunt me.
to this day, i can still remember the warmth of his blood dripping off my hands.
people told me to let go, but
i carved his name into my wrist, because i was afraid to forget.
when there was nothing left to carve on but bones, i etched his name into paper, into
but the thing is, poetry makes death seem beautiful. death in poetry is
romeo dying alongside juliet, and they are hand in hand until the very last.
but death in real life is not beautiful.
death in real life is
romeo's blood on juliet's hands, and she's screaming, and screaming, and screaming, but
there's no one to rescue her.
death in real life is juliet trying everything to be with him once again but not being able to die.
death in real life is juliet not really being alive anyway.
i still look at the moon, and wonder
if you can see it from wherever you are.
i'm done with cutting.
tired of the scarlet flowing out of my wrists, because
my scars won't bring you back.
and write, and sometimes
i have the guts to pray
for someone who'll love me as much as you did.
sometimes, i pray
for the guts to love someone as much as i loved you.
xviii. there is
something like hope, building up and out from my
and i think back to
i remember the warmth of your hands on my cheek.
your voice, breathing into my ear.
i remember one night, when i ran outside crying, and
you ran after me.
what's wrong? you asked. you were crying too. you never cried.
but really, how do you love me
when i'm not even close to deserving you?
and you laughed through your tears.
i love you because you're the only person on earth who deserves me.
i love you because you're the only person who'll ever be able to really love me back.
and i remember your eyes.
i remember that first day
when i knew that you were mine.
i remember you, on the violin, and you, singing, and you, laughing, and you-
i remember you loving me.
i still glance over at the moon every night out of habit,
but i no longer see your blood on my hands.
in these dreams, i see a panel of glass between us
and i can almost touch you,
and you say something i can't hear,
but it's something i understand
one day, i'll be with you again.
one day, we'll finally have our forever.
because he killed me, but