to keep my heart safe, to win without a fight.
Like-" yeah, I fall in love a lot."
Making it seem like it didn't mean anything
when it did.
"It's different every time."
Which is true. But maybe it's more true that I don't really know what love is.
I've always got my fingers on the edge, hanging on.
And with good reason, because there was never anyone at the bottom.
And all I did was set it up so that you won't think you mean anything to me either.
When what I meant to say was not that I loved them all, but that I needed so little
So much less than I need now.
And so my spoils are different versions of my broken heart
clumsily molded into the shape of something I'm missing.
I need to find a new focus, to appreciate what I have
and let the empty space be the reference to the fullness.
I just wonder when I'll stop missing your taste in my mouth.
Posts
