About us:

Because at our first meeting, you were awful at succeeding to show interest in my being due to your "great" Tinder app.

Consistently you tried and soon were alongside me in bed as we allied and told the feelings we had grown.

Damning was our joining as our friends were quickly coining something wrong and disappointing about you, me, and our love.

"Emily," they said, "She's too old for you, instead try some younger ones! You’ve tread on the wrong ground and I'm worried."

Frankly, they have good hearts but the thought of being apart from the person I had just started to love was just sickening.

Gently we had undone our clothes as we became one and surely we were both stunned on how natural it had felt.

Having done the biggest deed, it felt natural to recede, but instead you then agreed to be my one and my only.

I was nervous to a point about my mom and her viewpoint but I dare not disappoint her with my secret about us.

Just days after we met, in our biggest moment yet, the, "I love yous," our duet sang loud and proudly.

Keeping our union quiet was caused a huge internal riot and our minds couldn't deny it, so we just told everyone.

Little did we know that Meylin was the one that we bestowed the knowledge of our love and oh my gosh, was it funny.

My mind:

No matter the hours together, my mind struggled to weather separation altogether, as the depression began to hit.

"Paige, I can't keep seeing you. You're problematic and getting to the root of your problem is becoming too much for me to bare."

Questions running through my head, like who or what I shouldn't dread, and I can hardly even tread on the thoughts inside my mind.

Roughly, I have treated you despite not quite defeating you but at times I’ve near depleted you and your patience left for me.

Simply now I’m trying for our love to survive dying and my brain is sometimes frying but you always stick around.

The end result is sickening but your love for me is thickening to make up for my harsh quickening of the use of my defense mechanisms.

Until then:

Very soon I must end this, because the alphabet doesn’t digress and the letters that I finesse are coming to a halt.

Warily I write this not knowing what will come to spite us in the future of “alrightness” that we have come to know.

Xerosis hits my eyes as I’m done with gentle cries under this cloudy March sky as I write this poem for you.

You can be disappointed, I am too, with how disjointed this poem ended but that’s what appointing me does to poetry like this.

Zoning on my fears has made me glad to have you here and I hope that through the years you won’t leave me on my own.

I’m so grateful to have you. I’m sorry I don’t show it as often as I should.

"Have you ever been in love?" 

a] yes

b] no

c] I thought I was, but I realize I wasn't

d] no comment

If we were still in love today,

If our love didn't fade away,

And nothing mattered, anyway,

I would've gladly circled a.

If we had argued endlessly,

And ceasing us had set me free,

If I felt like an escapee,

I would've chose to circle b.

And if you had instead left me,

And this poem is just hyperbole,

You wouldn't be around to see

With no hesitation, I circle d.

It was I who ended you and me.

I ended what used to be,

And I simply cannot disagree.

This is why I circled ©.

If you ever read this:

I have every poem I ever wrote for you printed out and kept in a drawer in the corner of my room alongside every letter you ever wrote me. I kept almost everything you ever gave me. The bracelet is in the top drawer of my bedside table. The ring is sitting on my dresser, closed up in its box, polished. Black diamond, just like I had asked. The pictures of us are sitting on the corner beside it, still in the Wal-Mart envelope. I forgot to ever frame them. The bottle of perfume is on my side of the bathroom sinks, still in the box. I only use it on special occasions. The steering wheel cover I took out of your beloved car is now in mine. I touch it ever day. Every t-shirt I ever took is folded up in a drawer or stuffed in the bottom of the laundry hamper. I even have a pair of your socks.

These things don't bother me anymore. They never did.

It's been two years, but this fucking hurt to write.

There are no tears here, but sadness doesn't seem to leave.

Misunderstandings turn into hurt.

Past times with good friends are something to grieve.

There are no walls here, but escape isn't obtainable. 

Communication ceases, understandably.

Looking forward to nothing with no one isn't sustainable.

There is no love here, but it is happy sometimes.

It's hard to make sense of this.

I can't.