poetry and the occasional rambling

I cradled my cup of coffee to my chest as I watched you kiss her.

All I hope is that she gives you the same chills she gave me,

running up and down our spines like favorite poetry.

I hope you grow to understand that she is poetry herself,

and her curves and imperfections should become your favorite lines and stanzas.

I hope she still dips her tongue the same shy, adorable way when she kisses.
I hope she still has her same nervous ticks,

like curling her fingers through her hair.

I hope her heart is still as soft and pure as the day she left.

Because those pieces of her are what make her the most beautiful.

Her broken fingernails she swears are too dirty and split ends she’s been too lazy to cut out are intricate and gorgeously rich.

And that is what you must treasure the most.
Fill her empty soul and mend her broken heart.
Make her whole again,

because I sure didn’t.

Remember that she is art.

To be studied,

To be analyzed,

To be learned,
To be appreciated,
To be adored,
To be loved.

Loved.