The boy I like doesn’t know how to love when he’s sober. When he’s sober, he can’t show affection nor love. He doesn’t know how to behave. He was drunk, still, if he liked me as much as I liked him he wouldn’t have kissed that girl. I couldn’t let him go. I still had hope. But this is definitive, I've lost it. I’m done with him.

I longed for him. For his touch. I hoped for him. For us.
I was filled with hope. But it gone.
It left an empty hole. Right under my lungs. It’s an empty feeling with a sharp edge. When it’s quiet I can feel the edges, in the rhythm of my heartbeat. Pounding the poison of pain through my body. Filling me with emptiness.
An empty hole where I can feel the absence of him. I can’t say that I lost the piece that used to be there. Because it was never mine, he was never mine.
Maybe the empty hole filed itself with him when he kissed me.
Or maybe the empty hole filled itself with hope.
Hope is just like clouds, they come quick, can stay a long time. And as quick as they came, they disappear.
Clouds look like something substantial but you can’t touch them. They are just as thin and empty as the air around us.
My clouds were beautiful and filled with him. And now I’m empty. No clouds.