You Inked Me Like a Tattoo That Rubbed Off Like Sharpie

To anybody that has ever felt anything at all, especially you - I ran my fingertips across the leather notebook on your desk and I felt your thoughts crackling below my skin; overflowing with cursive letters and lines that raced inside the walls of your mind I wanted so badly for it to flip open, I could blame it on the wind I suppose. I wanted to hear the pages flutter, to see them flip back and fourth I wanted everything that was written in ink to shoot up in the air and cast itself onto the walls of your bedroom, I wanted your writing to burn the insides of my brain. I wanted to open that notebook, but I didn't. "How do you know when it's right" I asked you, Laying on your bed and twirling your sheets in my fingers "you'll know" you whispered "look into his eyes, are they something you want to explore?" I paused I knew I should've been thinking of him, but I wasn't. I was looking at your eyes, and I saw a glimpse of us in the backyard of the summer of 02', I saw bonfires with friends and laying in the middle of main-street at 3 am watching the streetlights change, praying to god you wouldn't change too. but you did. I liked the way you talked about falling in love, like it was such a burden on you but it was worth it. I liked the way you said her eyes lit up when she talked; like she had a certain substance that was untouchable. I liked the way your eyes lit up when you said it too. I wanted to close my eyes and pretend like you were talking about me, but I didn't. I laid my head in your lap and watched your lips move when you read me my favorite story; you hated it, but you read it anyways. You sighed at the literary in-corrections and cringed at the cliche love quotes, and I smiled while you touched my hair and I wanted to tell you I was in love with you then, but I didn't. And I know you've read more novels than I can count, and I know you've heard it all- but this is to everybody that's ever felt anything at all, especially you I never noticed stars until I saw them sparkling outside your pupils and I never enjoyed music until I saw it flow between your hair from the back seat of the car-all the windows open and my hand on your shoulder. This is no john green novel but the way your scars decorate your skin instead of deform it has always left a soft spot in my bones. i'm sorry I could never look into your icicle eyes and tell you everything ive ever wanted was in front of me I've always wanted to believe me, I've always wanted to but I didn't.