all i drink is coffee now because i know you hate the taste of it

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