Used To

I used to
paint your eyes
with my fingertips.
I’d trace them
in the air
and pluck stars
from the night
to illuminate the color
I painstakingly imagined.
I used to draw
your constellation
from memory,
outlining your bits
with chewed pencils
and scraps of paper
littering my desk.
I used to
picture you
even when I barely
knew you.
Your dark hair and skin,
your cool walk and the laughter
echoing from your belly.
I used to
dream of you
before I knew
you loved me.

I keep saying
I used to
but I can see
your stars
and your dark eyes
hovering just out of grasp
and I know used to
is a lie.




2 thoughts on “Used To

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