The truth is, this isn’t like the last time.
I look at you and suddenly I want to be rooftops at sunset and empty classrooms and the way early September tastes on your lips.
but the sky hasn’t stopped crying for the past few days, and whatever words I could say slip into fog, and I’m scared of pulling my eyes away from yours and feeling you disappear again.
I want to kiss you, but I think I’ve cracked my lips against the teeth of open mouthed hungry boys while I was waiting for you to love me back. If I ever press my lips onto yours again, you’ll drown in the echo of the sound my heart made when you left three months ago because I haven’t yet taught it to be quiet, and it screams against my chest whenever you’re around.