Darling

You make me laugh. Wait. No.
Made. 
That's what past tense is: "is to was to I can't remember anymore".
Now you're just a shadow, splitting through my room in the morning, a contrast. 
Or maybe you're a moonbeam, slicing through my memory, planting flowers wherever there is pain. 
And hey.
It hurts that you're gone. Really
hurts.
Because all I can remember is the way you scowled at me when I accidentaly hurt you and I swear it was an accident
but you didn't care, you said I wasn't thinking.
It hurts becasue you were so, so right every dang time. 
But most of all, it hurts because I spent hours plucking the petals off a daisy, wondering if I'd ever get to call you 
darling.