I'm scared to write about you.
I think it might have to do with the fact that we built everything on sand.

Plus I hadn't realized how close we were to the water.

The tide's coming in.

I feel it in my fucking bones.
You're another one too scared to hurt me.
Another one who's already stuck the knife in deep.
And yet another one that's going to leave.
A surprise? Please.

a Conversations in your tub.

Love?"

"Hm."

"Do me a favor?"

"Anything."

"Please, shut up."

"What?"

"Quite fucking frankly, I think I’ve heard enough about celebrities. Take my compliment would you? You’ve changed the topic. Now take my compliment you sexy little weirdo”

If I were to describe my heart it would be a car journeying to some far away cabin where I'll find peace.
Every once and a while my heart picks up a vagabond or two on the side of the road. Some stay for a short amount of time- others stay for a really long time. Each one is always different from the last. From the baggage they carry on their shoulders to the mere clothes on their back. They all eventually ask me to pull over, but I remember every single one of them- because when they steal away on their own journey's there's always an empty seat and they've either taken or left something in the car.

You've been hurt irreparably.
I can tell.
It's the way you grasp desperately to connection.
You're not well.

So is the rest of the world.
But you chose me
to share moments separate from monotony.

Thank you.

Wine in boxes.
Soothes the process
to cut my loses.

You told me not to trust you.

I don't.

But then you see me pulling away and you ask me to do the
exact opposite.

Confusing.

I guess I should have listened to you the first time. Cause I ended
up staying around long enough to have figured out- what you meant by
such an ominous thing.

Rightfully ominous.

I give up.

Because now I think of you and there's a
weight on my shoulders and on my chest.  My breathing
turns shallow. Nothing at all pleasant or exciting.

Just exhausting.

But every once and a while you make me smile
and I forget how much you weight on my soul.

I realize the enormity of the simple gesture of looking into your eyes
because you see right to the crux of me.
And it's frightening.
Unbelievably frightening.

But this moment is laden with loosening liquid and unvoiced desire
that I were someone else on your couch.
Not this bumbling short haired girl that wishes you
hadn't looked at her like that in the first place.

However, this fleeting instance is undeniably lovely- because you actually see me and
that brings tears to my eyes. But I know when sunlight streams
in on our intertwine bodies- our words will become
stilted and littered with subtext. Unfortunately- what does stay the same
is what you say to me in the morning- just like the last time we'd shared something beautiful.

'I don't want to hurt you.'

Fuck, does it hurt- just a little bit more then it did the first time you said that to me.