summer always makes me nostalgic; i find myself sitting on a bench on a dock somewhere wishing it was last year already (last year you and i were still a thing, even if it was pathetic). i remember touching you, i touched your golden soul and your smiling face and when we went to paris i truly thought i would marry you. i miss the way you poured your coffee. i miss your hushed voice in the morning and the way the hair curled in the back of your neck, the way i would run my fingers through it as i told you about my day and never listened to yours. i think i knew something was up quite a while ago; some things you know before you do, like how you know it’ll rain even though the weather forecast told you it wouldn’t, or the feeling in your tummy when you see someone for the last time. nevertheless, it still felt like i had fallen 100ft and slammed into a concrete floor when you told me: i can’t do this anymore. what couldn’t you do anymore? the poem sucks but so does your leaving, and sometimes you can’t seem to hand over the roses without passing some of the thorns as well. i wish i could hate you for saying goodbye. i wish i didn’t understand exactly what you meant when you said you couldn’t do it anymore. if we had met each other later in our lives, would it have worked? would it matter? i’m stuck writing like it’s 2014 again because the fog in my head never seems to clear up enough to compose anything decent, but those are the consequences of the things we do. i wish i could’ve loved you just a little bit less. i wish you would’ve loved me just a little bit better. i wish you weren’t so goddamn right when you turned around and grabbed your coat, and i wish i didn’t agree with you when you finally locked the door.