over & out

i am writing about the end of us

and you are going to read it.

goddamnit, you are going to read all of this

until your eyes bleed

as much as my heart.

this is the end of us.

i promise.

i will not write any more

damn metaphors

about how you were the sea,

rolling waves with your tongue

when you spoke.

i will not talk about how badly i wanted to be the shore you crashed into, or how much i begged you to collide with me, just once, just once.

i won't write about the hurricanes that pulsed through my heart every time you looked at me, or the damage you caused me when you looked away.

no.

i will not write about any of that.

i promise.

i won't speak of how your eyes were the starry nights van gogh wished he'd painted, and i sure as hell won't talk about how you were a masterpiece and your fingertips were the mosaic i wanted to put together forever. i won't write about how you were my mona lisa.

i won't write about you again. i promise.