We spoke in symbols, online realities and words that lose meaning now, hazy unclear flickers across the front lines of a battle you would later lose. Do you blame me? You still don't write back. I used to say you'd rear your ugly head again, but its been five years, and three without a word. I don't know if you've ever read a word I wrote for you.
Did you know, I can still draw your face, in perfect angles, the divet in your chest and the scar on your skull...how many new bits of you exist? How many demons made their mark on your soul? Do you remember me, superman? I was the one who loved you the most. But again, sink or swim. I still keep your heart in a box, hidden in a box, hidden in a drawer in a house that I live in a world where you can never find me. Is it so clean? So cut and dry? Not for the girl who writes to a dead boy. Not to the girl who converses in dreams to a ghost.
But thanks, for being there. Even if it was a dream. Thanks for caring, even just a little, about who I turned into. I will choose to believe you aren't as gone as the world says you are...We've always been a chapter too beautiful to burn.
Stains on the carpet and stains on our memories.