I know we decided to pretend there’s nothing here, but aren’t your hands screaming at you? Aren’t your lungs dragging their feet? Mine are. We have everything in front of us for a great something, but instead we’re choosing nothing. My whole body knows it’s wrong. My whole body wants to stop pretending not to want you. This isn’t fucking fair to me. I have the desire to take away your sadness so you’re able to cock that radiant grin on your face and I can’t even get a 2 AM “I miss you” text. It’s always me thinking of you. I planted this delirious dream garden where our tender future slowly grew.
Your lips were so red
when they ripped my heart out from the roots.
The smothering juxtaposition of choppy waves inside a sure soul with the deep sighed out breath of a moment in a lover’s arms, reflecting on truth’s purpose within the wide frame of reality and my truth as always has remained the same: love is not a text based adventure game. We cannot only love each other over the phone and fantasize to kill in person. I thought love would adapt itself to my needs but needs grow too fast; they come up like weeds -- through cracks in the conversation, silences in the dark; through everything you thought was concrete. You should have known better than to let me near an open flame. I have kerosene lips and powder keg hip bones and God knows how clumsy I am.
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