throughrubyeyes

this morning i woke up to find myself in pieces sewn back together with the threads of an illusion i almost spent a year in the making but the thought that whoever you were in my bed might have loved me gives me enough elastic strength to put on my makeup even though you left me with nothing but love for something that never existed even though you took it away with a phone call and all you could give me to make it hurt less was "baby what do you want me to say?" even though i only let myself cry for a night and its been 2 months last thursday and i'm still this fucked up what matters is i really loved you what else is there,

the day gets longer and night slips into a silent harmony under the slighted silhouette of doubt and the knowledge that i am still in love with the idea of a man who once spent the darker hours caught up in a black flat sheet and my arms, when these pages alone brought a smile that said mare than three words whispered between a kiss over a mixtape and baby i fucking love you in memory where i've blurred your inability to grasp subtle communication but what i really mean to say is six weeks of missing the blue in your eyes wears a girl down

i came to this year, this month this day, with you taking up the whole of my heart, i have watched the sun rise through the window of my bedroom to steal itself into the sheets where we made what i thought was love, sneaking jealous shafts that came to wake me from the dream of what we were and i suppose that in the grand illusion of your arms you never saw the light in my eyes a glow now all but gone retreated from transparent panes and i am cold in this reflection seeing myself for the first time with a clarity your elaborate deception kept in the dark they say that all writers are liars but the truth is we only write t

between technicolor delusions and the sheets that we used to share in exploring each other in those firebursts of chemistry that emma said so many times was not what sex is like but maybe maybe she just never fucked like we do like some silverchair line with something about angst that i heard when i was 14 and you hadn't woken up twisted in blankets and my arms yet

i said "i'll be okay" and i am except when i think of you and everything floods back like remembering a life you never lived and i can't seem to find the bad memories anymore only us sunlight through blinds and waking up tangled in you and some fairy tale that maybe i imagined but i can still see your eyes in the dark

i saw the sun rise over paris and as beauty roused the land that i can't seem to escape i heard your voice saying my name in a way that made everything around me fall into perfection because i could almost pretend you were there