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.

I thought you cowardly- but I looked at myself and could say no more.

"What If's" are bullshit.

It would be a whirl wind of something new and exciting if we were to let go of the infallible paranoia of hurting one of another. It would be... different. But is it really worth it? You've already pulled out a band aid for what could have been and she's quirky and full of life... Beautiful. As for me, well, my medication is in the form of scratch marks and love bites I don't normally like marring my skin- from others. Is it bad that I adore them now- because it's not something you'd do? Mark's you wouldn't leave, because you know I hate them- because you were peculiar about what I liked and didn't (even though you are a biter).  Your track record says to be cautious but mine says to slow the fuck down. I hate having something so fucking tempting right under my nose, five days a week. I know if I partake then I will burn my tongue, but I know I'll still eat. And it'll hurt so fucking good. But would it be worth it?

I know it is not.

 But I wish it was.

Fuck

She smiles despite herself because this girl before her, eyes shining, dainty fingers running through long hair- mooning over him, is fucking wonderful. She`s beautiful, full of life, and someone who isn`t her. And that`s when she realizes that he`s truly fucking sloppy. And what`s worst, is that he knows he is.

But she still can`t hate him.