When it's hard enough to forget to walk, but sadly not enough to forget to breathe

So I'm right here,
in your black-knit jumper.

Hardest thing to read?
Try writing it
living it,
To say I don't want you to be sad
is a lie I'll admit.

I've seen you suited and booted,
prince-fucking-charming-esque
then your hair's been matted
and you spat when we chatted
but your still so far the best

that I ever had
or all I wanted?
You choose.
but I hope your sad
and so very haunted
Excuse.

You know I love you, this and that
and the hardest part to script
fell tall and flat,
I bet that hit you in the face
like my
preliminary response to your taste in reneisence,
but that's off task.

I'll come find you
like the cough-sweet streetlights found flies
and gnats
then they found us a place to start
now, a place to now end
and that is that.

You're so very pretty,
and if it's the ripe of your cheek
or the soft in your speak,
in some ways you'll be with me forever
and that thought makes me weak.

I can already see that wrinkly nose
that scrawled when you were angry
and pleaded
when you were sad.
but I hope you remember I was right there in that jumper
with your perfect fucking T-shirt
when I didn't go mad.