on the updated list of my favorite things, the way your fingertips glide effortlessly down my back sits somewhere between the rose petals they touch on their journey and the moment before they stop moving.
the traces left behind are no more permanent than you are, but for one night at a time, the sensation keeps my skin from falling clean off the bone.
most days i’m surprised to see my shadow. on the rare occasion i get out of bed, i have trouble believing the imprint left behind in the sheets belongs to my own body.
it’s been suggested that i move back to an earlier grave, but i’d rather lay in the one i dug myself than collect dust on someone else’s mantle.
brick walls were made for protection so that when the big bad wolf is on the prowl, there’s still a chance of staying alive. when you’ve had your homes blown down before, taking precautions seems warranted. my walls are not intended to keep everyone out. please knock.
it’s bad enough realizing you never stopped drowning, but it’s worse finding out that the ones you love knew it all along, praying you’d learn to swim instead of helping you out of the water.
i am not a robot. my pieces are not mechanical. once broken, i am not easily fixed or replaced. i am no more permanent than you.
— i am not easy to deal with, but i still need love as much as anyone