December 15th

         I still feel very strongly for you. Like I'm wrapped up in your existence in a frenzy of wild sunflowers on a hill in a daydream. And I still think that you could split the tides with your eyes and everything you say is like butterflies. And, even though you don't paint as much anymore, I still think every stroke of your brush is what infuses the sunset with oranges and reds and pinks. And no matter how dark it is, you hold the morning in your hands and a single motion of your finger tip comes baring the sunrise.

          I think that I'll always feel this way, so you can stop trying to convince me otherwise with the new girl on your arm every week, and the bottles of Jack Daniel's you hide under your bed, and the smoke in your eyes after spending an afternoon behind our old school.

        I spent almost six years of my life on that hill amongst the butterflies and the amaranthine sunrise, and I will never forgot that time of my life. I hope one day you'll realize that.