I Spilled It

the ink in which i used to write our history.

the ink i swore to never even look at again considering what it was used for

we had no more history, so i had no reason to write.

i just left it there, thinking i would never use it again.

and then just when i was putting my old feelings beside it, it fell over on my carpet of dreams

messing it up. completely

i tried washing it, just made it worse.

i scrubbed, i dabbed, i even threw pure soap on it

still nothing. the stain in there forever

but of all places why would it fall on my dreams? 

not like you a stain in my dreams. 

are you?

either why now if we were ever to have a history, i could never write it.

that was my favorite ink.

you were my favorite history.

i was the only one chasing.

- A.