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To be with you in the mornings. I think of this as the pressure at the bridge of my nose begins to build. You are the impending, the twisted sheets and open-ended questions.

Call my name with no intention.

The way my fingers curl into your own. It's infectious and I feel an unsettling danger in that. The way I ache to kiss you there and there and there. So my finger-tips are affected, my lips, the center of my chest. A deep throb which doesn't hurt, but radiates with such intensity, sometimes. And every time I look at you, I become acutely aware of just how seemingly perfect it all seems. I lay there and think about how, years from now, I will remember this moment with painful nostalgia and it will break my heart because I know, even now, that I will eventually be laying here alone.

I thought that maybe leaving you would be easier than this. Just walk out the door as I say goodbye, but I keep getting pinned up against it, with my legs around your waist. My lips want you like my lungs want air. Your fingers up and down my spine in the mornings, urging me to lay back down for a moment longer. Don't go, don't go. I can't stop watching your mouth and what it does to the vowels in my name. So I will lie beside you in this bed, unnamed, until my hands recover from your skin.

I pray that in the morning I will have the strength I need to walk away.

The difference between being loved and being fucked is that I can't remember how the first feels. I come to bed, quiet, kiss with my eyes closed, hate how easily I touch you. I will teach you the meaning of meaningless nights. But every moment, every catching breath, wishing you'd crack me open, rib by rib, to see how I work. To see how I bleed. It's been such a long time since someone has touched a part of me that wasn't my body.

Everything I have ever loved of you has ruined me or let me ruin you.

You are somewhere in the back of my mind, but our lives, these moments, they never quite lined up. And if all that I am is not enough to anchor you down, if I am not worth the gamble, if what we are and what we were has no fighting chance against the doubt and uncertainty, then let us go our separate ways and be careful to never cross paths again. We've poisoned our blood and choked on our thoughts for far too long, and all because we were both cowards, once. I would give you all that is left of me, if only you would take it.

So, this is what we are. This is how we end. Fuck.

1 comment:

  1. Reminds me of a Regina Spektor song- On the Radio.

    This is how it works
    You're young until you're not
    You love until you don't
    You try until you can't
    You laugh until you cry
    You cry until you laugh
    And everyone must breathe
    Until their dying breath

    No, this is how it works
    You peer inside yourself
    You take the things you like
    And try to love the things you took
    And then you take that love you made
    And stick it into some
    Someone else's heart
    Pumping someone else's blood
    And walking arm in arm
    You hope it don't get harmed
    But even if it does
    You'll just do it all again