You said you liked my hips.

Then you broke my heart.


You came in riding on a silver horse and I told you “I love you”
“I love you”
“I love you”

No response.

I love you anyway.

As before, my friends told me “Be careful”
“Be careful”
“Be careful”

But I chose not to see.

I loved you anyway.

Last night I cried as you left “I’m sorry”
“I’m sorry”
“I’m sorry”

I was hurt again.

I will love you anyway.

The moral of the story is as follows:
You will always leave.
I will always wait.
And I’ll always envy your ability to flee.

Ignorance is easy.
My life is a cyclical joke.



"You say that you’re broken and I can’t think of a fitting response.
You’ve lost weight. I can see you’re trying to be strong, but the light has gone out from your eyes.
You search the room for something to grasp on to.
I search you for a sign of life.
They say that death comes in threes, I wonder if the same goes for souls.
I’m starting to question how many we have left.
If we count the remaining between us, I’d say we have enough.
“Enough for what”, you may ask
Just enough.
But the truth of the matter is I was always good at lying.
A magician perhaps.
Conjuring up beliefs and thoughts to prove that I was ok.
We were both ok.
“We’re both broken”, I think to myself.
And I stare at the dandelions, starting to rot, on your windowsill from last week."