i used to think sundays were the best
they were my days
spent however i wanted
never on homework
usually in the same pajamas i slept in the night before
but then you came around and breathing hurt
moving hurt
everything hurt
you never know how much someone impacts you until you constantly feel their fist in your chest long after they walked away
i used to think sundays were the best
you knew i was laziest on sundays
and you smiled wide as you said \"lets make these our days\"
and always wanting to give to you,
i nodded
but you turned all my favorites into something sour
you were magic like that
i think sundays are the worst
my window reminds me of you
my blanket, my music, my journal
my reflection
you killed me
polluted my mind
distorted my image of myself to where i only recognize me when im next to you
you were magic like that
i was born on a sunday
i died on one too
my grandma is allergic to pineapple and still loves the taste
i didnt understand how that was possible until i met you
- all i drink is coffee now because i know you hate the taste of it