It’s hard, but I just want him to be happy. Even if he doesn’t care a thing about me, even if he wishes the worst for me.. I just want him to continue to be the privileged, lucky shithead that he is. I don’t want him to suffer the way I have in my life, I don’t want him to lose her even though she’s too real for him. I can’t wish badly on him regardless of how he lead me on and how he’s a spoiled rotten asshole who likes to trick everyone into thinking otherwise. It’s not like I’d be doing any good for either of us if I did. He’ll continue to be happy in his life and barely have to work for anything he receives and I’ll continue to fight. That’s just how things are.
I am not the first person you loved.
You are not the first person I looked at
with a mouthful of forevers. We
have both known loss like the sharp edges
of a knife. We have both lived with lips
more scar tissue than skin. Our love came
unannounced in the middle of the night.
Our love came when we’d given up
on asking love to come. I think
that has to be part
of its miracle.
This is how we heal.
I will kiss you like forgiveness. You
will hold me like I’m hope. Our arms
will bandage and we will press promises
between us like flowers in a book.
I will write sonnets to the salt of sweat
on your skin. I will write novels to the scar
of your nose. I will write a dictionary
of all the words I have used trying
to describe the way it feels to have finally,
finally found you.
And I will not be afraid
of your scars.
I know sometimes
it’s still hard to let me see you
in all your cracked perfection,
but please know:
whether it’s the days you burn
more brilliant than the sun
or the nights you collapse into my lap
your body broken into a thousand questions,
you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I will love you when you are a still day.
I will love you when you are a hurricane.