Icarus's blog: "Just South of Blue."

What the fuck did we fight about?
I don't know that we did.
There was an understanding, a compromise of infidelic like.

I miss the weird, incomprehensible way your brain didn't work.
But I think what I miss most
were the tiny goosebumps on your bright alabaster skin, highlighted with the briefest flirtation of pink.
I can still put your face together behind my eyes,
and I can still run my fingers down your shoulder.

You fell in like
I fell in love.

I still call out to you after the bad dreams.
I still half expect to see you balled up in my throwaway t-shirts.
Wide awake, talking to someone in a book.

I still expect to land on cold hardwood floors,
and smoke barefoot on the porch.





I remember how beautiful you were
are.
Will be.

We were the same person once, only you burnt down a house
and I pulled a knife.

Could have been a good story.