Our Love Was A Bad And Beautiful Thing
There is an equal divide between the letters that make up amazing moments that I wrote with butterflies in my stomach because of us and the letters that take up the dark space.
How many Times New Roman font letters, black against the white pages, have been written because of you?
There is an equal divide between the letters that make up amazing moments that I wrote with butterflies in my stomach because of us and the letters that take up the dark space. The later half are letters you’ll never read, I twist them together to form sentences hoping to feel better with each press of a key. Somehow when the l and the o and the v ended with an e come together on this word document I feel much more capable of handling it.
It is easier to write about this word instead of hearing it over the sound of the radio when your eyes hit mine, every time I close my eyes at night. It is easier than it being soaked into me when you squeeze my hand three times, or feeling it on my cheek from your eyelashes showering me with butterfly kisses.
Our pictures are placed in a closed drawer so that I do not have to see that word shattered into a million pieces when I look at the glossy happiness that is now in the past. Although I have my weak moments, when I open the cabinet and our matching hedgehog mugs are still there, gazing at each other, filled with that word. When I have those weak moments where my chest hurts and it is hard to breath, I open that desk drawer, two down from the top, just to open your Prince Charming Application to me. To gaze at the black letters and white page that makes up my happiest memory. Although that word is not spoken to me from your lips anymore, I will never forget how it sounds, or even looks in a simple text message.
I do not need to pick flower from the ground like I did during tee-ball practice in the outfield. It is no longer necessary to pluck the petals one by one wondering; does he love me or love me not? I know that word has poured between us, flowing like hot lava, burning and not knowing if it is a beautiful or bad thing. For now it is just simple black letters flowing from my thought process, typing out the L – O – V – E. 
