Dominic Riccitello

Some days I wonder if I stopped writing about him, if I__ love him a little less.

I see you in every passing moment.

Sometimes he does talk back, but sometimes he doesn__. Sometimes he__ not there; and from time to time I believe this was all nothing but imaginary.

We grooved together with a rhythm so beautiful that I could feel the moment turned into poetry.

When you look in the mirror, do you look at yourself or for yourself?

But could words bethe end of me?

They__e scared of death, but that__ like being afraid of life.

As he stood in the darkness, his eyes glistened and that__ when I knew my light found its traction.

I__ not thankful for being fucked over, I__ thankful for what I took from it. What I learned. What I taught myself in that particular moment. I'm grateful someone was able to take me there and let me be in that moment - not with them, but with myself. How my emotions could surrender to someone and make me feel everything I felt. It destroyed me, but I made my way through; and I look back years from, and I still love him, I do.

Occasionally we must disconnect to reconnect later on.

My months are spent preparing for the fall.

How can you be afraid to live yet scared to die?

I loved you, I did. I believe I even sold myself a bit: on your love, my lust, your hair and just the way we stood there. How the air smelled of you, the way your shirt was cursed with blues. The way we danced by the ocean in front your mini-garden. The white fence, your loveliness and the heavenly kisses. It__l always be the sheets, lying beside, holding your arm and kissing your hair in a loving stride.

Old-fashioned dating still exists. You__e either dating the wrong people or you are the problem.

I loved you before all of this. When there was nothing. When there was only a single atom in the night sky.

Maybe the problem isn__ everything and everyone around you, but what lies within you.

It didn__ affect him because he couldn__ fathom how I felt. He never saw how I held or how I dealt. And when a breeze hits, his first thought is never a scent. We worked in different ways and different places, which were divided by a constellation.

I'm accustomed to toxicity and can__ control myself when I__ near it.