Being human is a tricky thing,
I cannot blame that I am such a ****** one on the mere fact that it is my first.

There are plenty of things I've done for the first time and not **** at.
But being fair and morally correctly was never on that list.

I can list what I **** at though.

Being too much or not enough of myself,
The endless judgment that comes with being, as if I am not doing it as a lived experience.

I cannot stomach the thought of anyone ever truly seeing me despite how much I overshare.
Regardless of how many times you tell me you care, almost no one cares enough.

It goes on and on until one day abruptly it just stops.

Your eyes shut with no idea that it’ll never see a sunrise again.
My lips never got a chance to form those words.
Your mind is only able to conjure me, reliant on nothing but memories.

Memories that’ll one day fade, until all you remember is the outline of my body.
And every now and then you catch a whiff of the perfume I used to wear on someone, but it doesn’t compare to my scent.

Still you seek me in a crowd, knowing I am not there.

The new guy i’ve got my arm around does not warm me like you do,
So I pull him closer and closer, forcing him to close the gap between our bodies.  
Still he leaves me, feeling incomplete.

But he is not you, and he will never be.

I know she makes you feel secure but the sight of her does not shake you to your core.
And I know he makes me feel at ease but I like the sound of waves crashing against shore.

I never felt more safe, then I did with you within our storm.

That is why i cannot go back there again.
Why would i want to return to my lowest point?
Why would i willing go back to my addiction?

Don’t you know nothing ever compares to that first high.

That is all, that is all i have to say about chemistry.
Is that it started off so sweet but in the end the taste becomes overwhelming, just like you.

For you cannot build a long withstanding relationship on chemistry and think you found it all.

Love cannot be built on a foundation that is fleeting.

I cannot fathom the fascination you have with being vulnerable,
Aren’t you more susceptible to deception?

Does it not allow for more frequent coming and going out of your life?
Out of your heart?

Where is the beauty in being who I am?
I am rough, raw and rigid.

Where is the beauty in stiffness? Besides the ability to withstand itself.
Maybe the mere fact that it does not tilt or shift for no one.
But who wants to love someone as stubborn as that?

There is no beauty in being vulnerable.

You cannot continue bleeding out ounces of yourself for people who cannot stand the sight of blood.

She said “if you’re such a romantic why do you keep on settling for the minimum?”

If she only knew how romance works, it’s getting lost in those mundane things.
It’s a look only you and him share.
It’s a shared connection.
In modern time it translates to taking one airpod and giving him the other.

Unfortunately, for a romantic who suffers the wrath of heartache more often than need be.
It is the moment we fall in love with, the high we chase in that feeling.

Goodness, I haven’t loved half the men I've been with but I sure loved how they made me feel.

You leave at the gate and I count back from ten as I walk to my door.
I think of you at ten how you show me you love me.
Your hand on my thigh at nine.
At eight how you smile at me.
Our secret handshake at seven.
The six times we drove around the block because I refuse to go home and be without you.
At five how we said and met each halfway in everything we did.
The four times you told me you might be in love.
At three I said those magical words “I love you”.
At two I look back as I almost reach my door.
I look at you one last time as I’m about to close my door, hoping that one day I close my eyes and sleep in our bed.

“wasn’t it tiring? Letting him come and go out of your life like he did?”

“It was” she says her voice only but a whisper, her shoulders dropping in exasperation. You could see the relief in her eyes as she admitted that indeed it was.

“Loving him was the most exhausting and most exhilarating thing I’ve ever done. He was the most mundane man but he brought so much spontaneity to my life. He was the essence of excitement, like a revolving door you don’t exactly know which side it truly moves but somehow we would always make it to the other side.”  She took a deep breath as a smile crept onto her now relaxed face.

“That man,” she sighs

“That man was a walking library filled with my favourite word, freedom”