No one would care,
If I left like the air leaves my lungs after a kiss.
I'm a burden
A choice people regret as soon as they fully understand the consequences
I'm a wish people want to take back
A soul forever lost in a sea of never being enough.
I'm loved
The same way you love a painting in a museum, from a distance and with no real understanding of what it means...
A flame forever sought until it burns the skin, only to be put out again.

There's this guy I ghosted,
He reminded me of you.
Anxious, quirky, really into technology.

He still reminds me every day how great I am.
Even though I haven't responded in days.

I have only just met him and already he says
"I would give up the world for you"
I want to believe him.

But he does not like me.
He like who I became with you.
He likes that I play civ and he doesn't have to explain what a pi hole is.
He likes that I 3D print and can be IT to my own computer.

But maybe that's who I am now.
I'm this weird mess of us.
And maybe I will be forever.

Alexander Scriabin - Poeme Op. 32 # 1

The young man sits down to play, impressed his date wants to hear him play a piece so close to his heart.

Nervous he breathes, praying that he remembers it well enough to amaze her. His fingers begin to dance upon the keys, he's content with how he does.

She is amazed. This man who challenges her, has picked her brain about humanity, and makes her feel like she's the only person in the world, can play a melody so sweet her heart breaks.

She doesn't realize it's a date. But she's in love with the way his hand shakes at the end. The glow in his eyes, pride obvious when she claps.

She has to tell him no when he asks for a kiss. He's perfect but that song will always remind her of the man who tore her heart out, the one who made her not want to exist.

The young man is perfect and in another life they'd have met under better circumstances.

The smell of your clean shirt and showered skin mix with the smell of the recent cigarette you smoked.

The taste of it burns my mouth,
I cant, dont want to stop your lips against mine, moving down my skin, your hands reaching up.
Fingers laced through my hair.

The air is gone, sweat and pleasure in my lungs, our tongues intertwined.
Our bodies pressed close,
As though if we move too far apart,
We may not get the chance to feel each others skin again.

I wait for you to stop,
To realize we are but a struck match.
A flame that burns only bright enough to die.
Barely slow enough to catch.
That time has stopped progressing and eaten us alive.

Trust.
A monosyllabic word that so easily crumbles at the feet of man.
A word that unlocks gates to guarded hearts and refortifies them when broken.
A word that builds friendships, families... Lovers.
A word that reaches into your chest and rips from your ribs a bleeding heart.

Trust.
Delicate, fragile, breakable.
Given away only to be given back in tatters.