To the person i hate the most,
your name is an unanswered whisper across cracked lips.
I wonder when you'll hear me.

I see you in the mornings, as the sun crests the mesa,
squinty eyed and nursing sweet coffee. 
I remember the nights you spent screaming,
and compare the memories to the vision before me. 

To the person i hate the most,
I see your hands, small and wrought with imperfection.
You touch things,
never people.

You touched me, ...

To the person i hate the most,
your name is an unanswered whisper across cracked lips.
I wonder when you'll hear me.

I see you in the mornings, as the sun crests the mesa,
squinty eyed and nursing sweet coffee. 
I remember the nights you spent screaming,
and compare the memories to the vision before me. 

To the person i hate the most,
I see your hands, small and wrought with imperfection.
You touch things,
never people.

You touched me, ...

She smiles because she can. I smile because she's happy enough to smile. 

This is the color of her hair, impulsively dyed to hide her sadness, her makeup runs down her cheeks, the sun sparkles off her tears and you can't help yourself when you reach over and brush them away. This is the color of your mother's favorite dress, the one she only wears when she's feeling happy; when her depression has relaxed it's grasp on her and this color returns to her cheeks, paints her lips and nails as she takes you...