There’s nothing romantic about missing someone so much
that your body curls in pain.
I’m constantly trying to find the instructions to stop feeling heavy
in the bottom of a bottle of wine.
There’s no way around it,
I think I’m going to have to wait
until all my cells are replaced and
my body no longer remembers you.
I was always leaving things behind in your little 8th floor apartment. Sometimes a toothbrush, sometimes my underwear. I still wonder if I subconsciously did that with the intention of having an excuse to return. Returning to grab a handful of your face.
You didn’t love me, I know I know.
You played with fire to entertain yourself and I needed fire to live.
I’m getting bad again but I’m too tired to care.