Letter to T:

You found me on the bleachers because of a song we both liked.

You found me on the bleachers because God waved you over with my fingertips

and your promise to "be better" was exchanged for a revoked invitation

and I deserted you

because I was too busy looking at your problems 

to see your solutions.

You have a talent for breaking my friends hearts

day after day after day

like a spoon disguised as a fork,

jabbing people in the ribcage when all you wanted was to hold them.

It takes more than the Christmas lights around my doorframe to kill depression,

and you never saw the burn marks that lit me like matches

yet you called me "better".

Honesty was a drink

and I never saw your lips touch the bottle

and red flags followed you everywhere

and I deserted you.

This is for the boy who got sand thrown in his hair

and still refused to show his temper

and still breathes

and loves

and

cries

without complaining.

You're gone now, 

but you didn't leave without turning my blood to cinnamon,

and convincing me that everyone

was the same.

And I see you.

I see you.