He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me. He wants to kill me.
When the world ends and the sky collapses, you are the one
that I will look for in the wreckage, even if it's just to be there
with you when it's over. It's been a good ride but we knew
we'd have to get off sometime.
Let me tell you about the time that I drank spoiled milk.
Only the milk wasn't spoiled; it was our love that had expired.
You put me in a cage and you told me it was my armour.
You deserve this.
Eventually I will stop writing about you.
Every moment I spend thining about you is a moment wasted.
In retrospect, I should have known better.
When we first went to have dinner, I had that nosebleed,
remember? It looked like a crime scene. Something about you,
being next to you, has always caused me to spill out, make mess,
fall apart. And I've never felt more like myself, or more alive.
You broke my heart but I'm grateful. You taught me that
love is as deceitful as spite, even more misguiding.
You taught me that words of love don't always mean
what you want them to, that people don't always do
what you wish they would, that life is a sequence of let downs,
but the next time I was let down, it didn't hurt nearly as much.
You were already dying when I met you but that had nothing
to do with loving you, though I wish I was the kind to cut losses
because any future without you in it, I don't want to be in either.
The next time someone asks me why I prefer the solitude,
I will be sure to begin with the story of you.
I've only just figured out that in your story, I am the villain.
People say that you cannot truly know love until you love yourself
but I know that they are wrong- I could never love someone like me
but somehow you love me enough for the both of us, and that's okay.
How many lights do you see? The ones in the sky, the ones
in your eyes, the one at the end of the tunnel, the one beside the bed,
the one coming underneath the door, the one everywhere now.
If I were to say that I need you to to stay alive, would you laugh at me?
