do you trust me? 

because frankly, i dont even trust myself.

the pain still lingers—

like the side of your ice cream that has melted lingering onto your fingers.

wipe it off, she says.

oh how easy i wish it could be.

its too sticky, silly. do you have any wet wipes?

sure, do you need some for your tears as well?

no, the rain usually does that for me.

like the smell of my bath and body works candle.

the scent of pineapple and mango would linger in the room;

sticking onto my bed sheets, and oh how marvelous it would be after a long day fighting off dragons without having a prince on beck.

do you hide underneath them as well?

no, it hits home far too much.

like how your hoodie smells of you.

i nearly refused to bring it with me, wanting to leave it behind and maybe some parts of myself as well.

but like everything else, you linger.

and sometimes i fucking hate it, but then again how could i?

definitely not when i love you this much.