❝ Your voice keeps me up some nights,
and I haven’t heard it in months.
I almost asked your new girlfriend
if you still taste like the sky does in Brooklyn,
but she’d probably think I was crazy.
You told me that you were never
going to love another poet,
and I’ve spent every minute since
wondering if I can stop writing long enough
for you to kiss me again.
I think my skin wakes up some mornings
and forgets to tell the
rest of my body to do the same.
I tie my veins into knots
trying to get pieces of you out of my bones,
and I am sick of reminding my blood
to keep flowing even if it hurts.
I spend too much time thinking
about her hands holding matches
and setting fire to everything I gave you.
I can’t help but think that she probably doesn’t count the
stars living inside of your collarbones
because she probably doesn’t see them.
I hope this is what you wanted.
I hope you know it’s what you asked for.
you said you didn’t know how to love me anymore,
you meant you didn’t know how to
handle how much I loved you.
And I promise that I am trying to stop sighing
love letters into your voicemail.
Maybe one day I can tell you that it’s working,
and I won’t even try to touch you while I am saying it.
Maybe that won’t happen anytime soon,
but I hope you know that I haven’t reached
for the phone in twelve hours.
And maybe that’s enough for now.
Y.Z, Letters to the moonlight (via rustyvoices)