To me, love is such a simple concept.
To me, love is black and white.

Loving somebody
Is as easy as memorizing a song,
Making toast,
Driving home.

It's without thought,
routine,
simple.

I do not understand
Why others must make it more than this?
If you love,
With your whole heart,
Just love.

Smile, kiss, compliment, be.
Say what you feel,
And feel a lot.
Feel everything your heart will hold.

Be as honest as you would with a friend,
As caring as you would towards your mother,
And as loving as you know how to be.

Nobody expects you to love the best,
Just the best that you know how.
So just  *love.

A terribly unfair limbo between

I cannot do this anymore,

and there is no way I could live

without you.

Hurt me.
Get drunk and tell me you love me and you've never wanted
Someone more than you want me.
Then run to her when you're too afraid to face your words.

Tell me.
Get drunk and hurt me because you don't want
Anyone more than her.
Then run to me when you feel like you'll never be good enough for her.

Need me.
Because I get drunk and all I need is you.

Why must I be punished,
For loving you
Too much?

Interlocking your fingers with mine in the quiet dark backseat,
Hands gripping my waist as i'm lost in the crowd, pulling me close into your side,
Trails of kisses down my arm, interrupted by solemn, full-hearted confessions,
The movement of your lips when you're excited to be talking and your strong arms around my chest,
Guiding arms and quiet laughs as you lead my rambling, drunken body to your warm bed
Where you ask me about my night and my life and how I feel about you.

The gentle pull on my waist as sleep left your body.
The steady stare as the alcohol and lust consumed you.
Your strong and firm kiss when you could not convince me that you loved me more.
The unabated honesty as you confessed that I'm your Daisy Buchanan, and she's our Tom.
The look of sorry deep within your tired blue eyes.
The way you say coffee and hockey and my name.
When you talk about our kids and our home and your job and our future and us.
The anger when you think about him or her or it.
The gentle pecks on my forehead and fingers through my hair and interlaced fingers.
And when you let me in and let me look through the window to your heart.

I may have left an empty place
Between you and the wall,
But you left me one
In the middle of my heart.

Now you're surrounded
By the lights and sounds and love
Of the place where you belong.
You say you miss me.

And I'm left with the streetlight beams between the blinds
And scattered love between my sheets.
But I'll never be home because
You'll never be here.