You don’t love him.
You love the idea of him,
the concept of someone
who will fill the void of your bed
and kiss your scars back into your skin.
You crave salvation,
I can’t blame you for that.
But you won’t find it in his stale words,
rehearsed and abused on his
Your saving grace is somewhere
inside that scar tissue you’re
so desperate to peel from your body.
I fell in love with a girl through a computer screen. I think she was made entirely of dust particles, pushed tightly together and wound with ribbon, but that did not matter. I am a romantic. I learned guitar to impress her, I flew 3000 miles to meet her, I memorized the spelling of at least ten of her friends names just so that I could be a part of her world and yes
it was doomed from the beginning and yes
there was someone else but no,
it was never not worth the struggle. I have been in love twice in twenty one years and she
was the important one (I’d go back if she asked me to. Endlessly.).