his mixtape was (not) fire

they say those who play with fire will get burned
but i don't even remember a spark

so here i am with an unlit match in my hand
with smoke in my lungs
and a second degree burn on my heart

but i don't even remember feeling a spark

i remember soft hands
i remember the rise and fall of his chest
rising
falling
again and again
i remember the irony of 500 Days of Summer
i remember while we watched it, my arm went numb









but i was numb
i was numb the whole time
because there wasn't even a spark

somewhere along your road of
1 am "i miss you"s,
constant "i'm thinking about you"s,
and 7:17 mostly joking "i'm in love with you"s,

i ran from you.

it was for the best--i still know that today
you were a mistake to begin with,
that's why i never lit the match:
because i knew was afraid there would be a flame.

but you were a wild fire
and you burned right through me
you lit me up, no spark needed--
always rushing into things.

but there was never a spark

i swear there was never a spark

there was never a spark.

now i'm surrounded by ashes
of what happened between you & me
and i know it wasn't anything close to love

but it still burns deeply.