day 213

An open letter to the poets I will never learn to love

This is for our break up

This is for every time I dream of kissing the skin on your shoulders and leaving the scrapes on your knees without ice. This is for the longest Winters we've grown accustomed to and the frostbite fingertips I will never  get to leave.
This is for the business trips to no where and the vacations you tell me you want to take alone. This is for the unmade beds and unmade make ups. This is for every single time I've wanted to hang up the phone. This is for every single time I've kept your call going, but screaming at you with the mute option on.
This is for not being able to stay silent.
This is for not being able to enjoy the silence.
This is for every time I've insulted someone by telling them they don't know how to live with silence. This is for the idiot lovers who thought it was a compliment. This is for every douchebaggery of a boy who has ever thought they were the "nice guy." This is for all the genuine nice guys.
This is for falling too quick once Summer packs its bags. This is watching your friends leave for college. And this is also for the love of your life getting on a bus, watching and waiting for you to turn around while walking away. This is for all the background music they will play during our documentary. This is for our story. This is for a tale untold and a tale made out of ash.
This is for a love I will never be able to name.