Sometimes I still hear your voice

I miss people 

I never should have let into my life.

People who carved their name into me 

like a dying tree,

wilting with the weight of goodbyes and kisses 

that meant less than they were supposed to.

And I know it's been a while,

but sometimes I'm screaming the words 

to a song on the radio

and I accidentally tell my mother I miss you.

Because you're still there

in rolled-down windows 

and windblown hair sticking to my mouth

and summer nights 

that should leave you feeling breathless 

but just make you really tired.

And I hardly think about you anymore.

But when I do,

you're the only thing on my mind

and you're every single star in the sky.

Sometimes I feel like 

I have a lot of things to tell you.

Things I know would make you laugh.

I wish I could send you these words 

like souvenirs from my journey 

without you,

but I don't know 

where your front door is anymore.

It never did me any good waiting around.

Like the times I'd wait for you to get home,

sitting alone at 1am 

knowing that we didn't feel right anymore.

I still have your gifts, 

you know.

I'm going to sell them

and buy something I know you'd hate,

like a lava lamp 

or some bullshit.

If you said hello to me,

I'd say hello back.

If you asked me how I've been doing,

I'd say fine.

That's the truth.

Just don't ask me if I've found love again,

because I haven't even tried.

— m.f. // Sometimes I still hear your voice 

in my head