Shades of Gray

The silence hurt the most. Because though all of the not-talking and not-yelling and not-even-whispering, I could hear the clothes fold into perfect squares and land into the perfect crevices you created in our hearts. I could hear the zipper like you were forever sealing us out of your life. I guess all you needed was that suitcase and anything that could fit in it. We never fit, did we? I could hear the lies that screamed and the tears that never fell. I could hear your footsteps closing the door on us, on me.

You always told me I colored your world a million shaded of rainbow.

Like every time you sat through my soccer games in the pouring rain. Or when I played in the piano recital and even when I messed up you acted like I was perfect. Or when you pushed me for hours on the swing in our backyard. Or when you made me try your chocolate tofu pudding. Or when you handed me a glass of water every night but made me promise to save some for the fishies.

Maybe you didn't have room in your suitcase for my box of crayons or maybe you took them out to make room for the nights you said you spent at the office, or the years of guilt that you couldn't get rid of.

Give me back my crayons.

I’m living in shades of grey.

Are you?

A Piece of Me.

Welcome back, my friends.

Let me share with you a corner of my heartbreak. A corner of this beating organ that keeps me alive and kills me at the same time. You know what? Ill let you take a piece. They all belong to you anyways. Yes. You.

A piece for you who tried out for student council every year and lost every year. I cried that day for you.

For you that painted my nails and future as we fell in love.  

A piece for you who drove into my driveway after I promised nothing would happen.

For you who talked to me for hours and hours about nothing and everything.

A piece for you who doesn’t smile. It’s a part of you I wish I could know.

For you and our backseat kisses and front seat realities that always found us back on the road taking me home.

A piece for you who tried for a year and a half to become a part of Lone Peak and could never quite do it. I hope you know the club we started and I are worse off without you.

For you who ran through the sprinklers and laughed when that white van honked.

A piece for you who ate lunch in the attendance office and then buried himself in the ground. You buried some of me too and I don’t think you even knew my name.

For you and indoor surfing and 2064 and orange.

A piece for the person who sobbed her way through The Fault in Our Stars and lessons about the Holocaust and Josh Groban. Don’t worry, so did I.

For you who never said goodbye because that was to final and it took was 20 minutes anyways.

A piece for the person who keeps falling in love even though he never seems to care or maybe he just likes the cracks he creates. A piece for him too.

For you who showed me how big your brave was and let your words fall out in letters that still come.

My heart is broken and the pieces aren’t putting themselves back together.  

For you who promised to never leave like the rest of them.

Take what’s yours because maybe I’m realizing they never belonged to me in the first place.

For you who left. And I’m falling apart.

You who held all of me together, use pieces of me to patch up the rest of you. Maybe if we I can’t be saved, you can.

Love forever, Auburn Crane