17/07. Existing.

Happiness smells like your body lotion Freshly lathered upon your skin The one you'd dress yourself up in Of a morning, Naked and bare As I stayed wrapped in last night's sheets. Eyes barely open, Day light peering in, My body still half numb And yours, freshly washed Laid down upon it Matched up inch for inch; All of you pressed against Me and my yesterday's skin And yours divine Still somewhat creamy The scent luring my form to life The wet strands of your hair Teasing the back of my spine And I feel the weight of you And I feel real. I feel my existence Beneath you. Each morning I spent Half asleep as you went about Your little routines that predated me Each one of them Feeling more alive that I ever have. Every morning you kissed me into existence With your touch taught my breast to beat.

30/07.

Find whatever it is you're looking for and find yourself (not wanting it anymore).

05/08.

Ironic isn't it, When she treats me like shit It's not her I hate, It's me.

March. Rome. Alex.

In Rome my eyes fell on beautiful things. In Rome the sunlight melted into me, it sank through skin and whatever lies within and once nestled, grew inside of me, a flower on delicate limb. The days went by, each grander than the last as we spent our time looking to the past. At ruins and arches and plaster-casts and for once I saw beauty somewhere other than in your eyes. In a city overrun with tourists and people who dawdle on overcrowded cobble stone streets I was spoilt with statues and fragments of remains, with frescoes, with pistachio-flavoured gelatos and things that weren't you and when finally I stopped making my constant visits, marching building to building, pausing only briefly on bridges, I called out for your voice and now I need stitches. We spoke, of weather rather than the end. We danced with our words for what felt like hours and then finally when what had to be said was said (did it really have to be said?) I ended our call hidden behind my sunglasses. It was evident, the flushed cheeks, the snuffles, the snot, the pity smiles from lobby clerks as i waited on the elevator doors to shut. In Rome I watched my insides pull apart, beneath my skin an opus sectile of organ parts. Blood for glue, tissue parts for tesserae. Now doused in wine; a Primitivo red, there's nothing left to see. In Rome you said you loved me, from the other side of the world, via telephone.

When I first left Geneva she wrote to me "Fuck you for making me feel - how's that for a six-word-story?" Well, fuck you for making me believe. How's that for a six word poem back? You had me, the girl who doubts everything, believing your feelings for me were real.

Resuscitate me.

Grab me by the the wrists. Yank me into a life. Preferably yours

10/7. V.

She asked me if I liked pain At first I wondered why

17/7.

She once said she didn't want to have to miss me.

A new series of regrets / part II

I wanted to know every little piece of you And love you for all of it.

30/06/16.

But love is a selfish thing; I wanted what was best for you. (As long as that included me).

Endings.

This time she didn't leave me with any hickeys; She no longer wanted to leave a trace.

28/06/16.

She had me on strings; A puppet not good enough to keep

Ain't no sign up sheet.

There are no parts of you I'd cherry pick Sign me up for all of it.

18/06/16.

I look back and I can see The discomfort I felt In my own skin Tight. Contorted. Constricted and strained. Like a size too small, Too narrow Too, something other

14/06/16.

I found a truer self I'm not sure she's much better.

13/06/16.

I've always said I want honesty But do I really want the truth?

7/5. (No love).

There were oceans between us but that’s all there was.