1 a.m. - Free Form (From the Archives) 23.12.15.

It is 1 am and I miss you. The air surrounding my barren body is thick with regret for the words I said and did not. Your body rests effortlessly somewhere in the world I am not.

While mine aches with discomfort for the times you played with my heart. I always did like games, even if heartbreak was the objective. As long as you were sitting on the opposite side of the board, rolling the dice. It is 1am and my eyes burn and my fingers type angrily in tune with the thudding of my restless heart. My heart that has not yet stopped beating for a love we never stood a chance at having. A romance that manipulated it’s way inside my brain, a romance I lived for while your lips left pretty lavender marks on other girls necks. My ears are as broken as my heart and burn almost as much as the freckles under my eyes. The freckles that became accustomed to the acidic tears you brought with your presence. My body hates you.

Hates the way it beat itself over and over again for a boy who drunkenly danced his way into my life and my poetry and left his ink splotches all over the tattered pages. It is 1am and I cannot tell whether I miss you or the idea of you. My nostalgia has webbed lies over the words you never said and the kisses that faded all too quickly. My spine aches from the way you cracked it as you walked over my lifeless body, leaving only tears and shattered pasts in your wake. But my tears have dried now and I cannot bring myself to allow them to return.

Because I do not wish to cry over your incapability and your hearts clotting for love.

It is all too little and all too much. It is 1am and I still look for my name on your lips. For your eyes to be trained on me as I laugh with those who have cared for me all along. I do not wish to have you back, but for gashes to be left on your knees as you beg on the ground for just a little piece of me. A piece of me you had all along.