|| Noun ||

He used to talk to me

On the phone, in school,

On trains, before bed.

He rubs my hands and warms them up,

While I stare at his furrowed brows,

Wondering if he knew

He warms me up from the inside out.

He carried me princess style,

Tells me the dark ain’t for a lady like me,

And beneath the umbrella of the night

Under no false pretences my heart felt a bump.


We now talk in long, encrypted stares,

Exchange little, tired, smiles.

Replies in one word sentence,

Watch the other glide pass saliently.

I look at him and I know,

He no longer smiles just for me;

I want the world to know:

He is now theirs to keep.

– a.h.


As I watched from below, you looked glorious, magnificent, confident. I was proud. But that sense of pride stemmed from some place dark — as though I tried to hide it but it came out. I smiled because you stood bravely; I teared because I knew that was the pivotal point when we are set to part ways. 

Thank you. For letting me know you, before the rest of the world did. 

” Sometimes I wonder if he never wished for me because he already had everything. ” – Dominic Riccitello

To read more of his writings:


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