Total pages in book: 9
Estimated words: 9848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 49(@200wpm)___ 39(@250wpm)___ 33(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 9848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 49(@200wpm)___ 39(@250wpm)___ 33(@300wpm)
And I hope I ruined all your favorite songs,
and that your passenger seat still smells
like me.
I hope you can’t go to our spot without thinking of me,
and that you see my eyes in your dreams
the same way I see yours.
I hope you never forget what it was like
Sunday mornings
me and you and a rainy day
spent under the covers
laughing
loving.
I hope you remember,
so I can exist in your world
in some way
forever.
— K
He whispered forever as he nuzzled my neck, the heat of his breath melting against my bare skin as I stayed tangled up with him.
He swore to never leave me alone.
It’s his best-kept promise. Even when death knocks on our door, I know he will never abandon me. His love will be my eternity.
— B
Maybe it’s because our love didn’t have time to burn out, because it was killed when the flame was still blue, burning hot, no ashy end in sight. Maybe that’s why I can’t shake you, no matter how many months or years pass, no matter how many men kiss my lips and run their fingers through my hair, no matter how far the distance grows between us. Perhaps you’re a permanent mark made on my heart from the flame burning out so suddenly, so quickly — just like a star dying leaves a black hole behind.
— K
I think I like you more than you like me.
That builds a wave of uncertainty.
I write texts saying I miss you and never hit send. I overthink every call and wonder if your tone has a secret meaning. One that says you’ll soon say goodbye. One that showcases your lack of attraction.
I retreat.
I don’t reach out as much.
The gun in your hands is the one I placed there.
I put your fingerprints on the weapon even though I planted it on you.
The bullets in the gun are aimed at me.
I pull the trigger so you can’t hurt me first.
Still, I end up bleeding.
— B
It’s in these quiet moments,
when your hands are in my hair,
my fingers tracing highways
between each of your freckles,
our favorite songs softly playing,
you softly singing along,
me softly falling.
It’s in these quiet moments
that the universe feels small,
singular,
like it only exists when
you
and I
are together.
— K
There’s an album in my phone called love, and it’s packed with photographs of him and me. I didn’t even know real love existed after hate tangled up with my soul and cosplayed as love—something it could never truly be.
I didn’t know love could taste like honey and melt like ice moving slowly down my spine.
I didn’t know love could feel like an autumn breeze in the evenings and smell like fresh baked goods on a rainy Sunday.
I didn’t know love could look like this: like us laughing in still photographs. Your lips pressed against my cheek. My arms wrapped tightly around your body. Smiles on our faces that hatred could never develop.
There’s an album in my phone called love, and it’s packed with photographs of him and me. Each time I add a new one, I scroll through my favorite memories.
The stillness of the images brings me home.
— B
I told him I would write a poem about his hands,
his magic, masculine, confident hands.
Those hands sailed around the world,
touching exotic lands,
and chaotic seas.
They climbed mountains in another country,
and made music in my living room,
the guitar willingly submitting —
take me, please.
Those hands have devoured books,
fingertips slipping between pages,
thumb slipping between his teeth
to turn the page.
But it was what those hands did to me,
the way they framed my face,
held my neck,
traced my skin,
fingertips skating their way between my thighs,
between my lips,
between the ribs that guard my heart.
“These hands will be the death of me,” I whispered.
And then those hands pulled me in
closer
and I surrendered
to my fate.
— K
One day, I won’t regret the love I gave to you so freely.
But first, the cuts you slashed against my heart must heal.
— B
I have learned that insecurities thrive best when we let them blindfold us and lead us into jealousy, into self-loathing, into uncertainty. Stand up to them. Look them in the eye. Demand answers, scrutinizing and studying and dissecting — and watch them crumble, concrete walls turned to dust, the ashes you will rise from.
— K
He wasn’t a prince, and I wasn’t a princess.
Still, a fairy tale was built in the quiet whispers of our love.
There was no knight in shining armor.
There was no crown.
Yet we felt royal.
We deserved the happily ever afters, too.
— B
I look at you and I see worlds.
I see the mountains we will climb,
the waters we will swim,
the balconies we’ll hold each other on
as we drink in foreign flavors
and each other’s warm smiles.
I see flights and trains and boats,
our hands tangled together,
each day a new destination,
each year a new discovery.
I see adventure in your eyes,
and that journey reflected in my own.
I see forever when I look at you,