The thing about falling out of love
is you have to be just as careful coming out as you were going in (if not more).
Too fast and you’ll crash.
But too slow and you’ll be stuck like that forever.
I guess you have to take care of your heart
like you take care of all those silken shirts in your closet.
You have to let it cool just right or it’ll wrinkle.
Those crumples and crinkles left imprinted on you.
A fold for each lost love,
until your heart is nothing more than a creased mess.

Sometimes I wrap my arms around my rib cage and pretend they’re yours.
But they are far too weak and my fingers are much too cold.
They provide me no comfort and just make it more painfully obvious how alone I am.
They hold me together just enough so I won’t fall apart completely.
But I’m growing weaker and it getting harder not to just cave in.
To just let go and have the pieces fall where they may.

Not all words can be defined into simple terms.
You can’t explain love
in a sentence, or a paragraph, or a book.
Peace is not understandable from person to person
behind a page of meaningless text.
Happiness and sadness are not antonyms,
but meld and morph into one another
without you even noticing.
I would never be able to show you the way I feel
when I look at him,
this incomprehensible mix of compassion, enchantment, and pure freedom.
Try to put into terms the ball of jealous rage you feel
in your stomach when you see them with someone else.
Elation doesn’t come in doses.
Inspiration isn’t packaged and shipped to your door.
Nostalgia can’t be sold,
and trust can’t be bought.
Emotions aren’t that easy.
They aren’t black and white
and you can never have just one at a time.
They don’t come when you call or leave you when you beg them.
And just like you can’t explain colour to a blind man,
you can’t explain love to someone who’s never truly felt it before.

Do you ever want to crawl inside a duvet like a tomb.
To have the warmth pressing in on all sides,
Like the hug you always crave
but never receive.
Blocking out the outside world.
All light,
gone.
All senses,
gone.
Like a temporary death.
Trying on your coffin as you would try on a dress.
You slow your breathing
and squeeze your eyes shut so tight, you’re seeing spots.
Can literally feel time moving around you,
Can hear the sound of rain pattering on the roof
and it’s like the heavens are falling.
You’re in your own world
In your own galaxy.
Alone.
Far away from the body lying on its bed wrapped in its duvet.
Distanced from the problems,
the troubles,
and the beating of your own heart.
Craving for this to never end,
And maybe it doesn’t have to.

I have an all consuming fear that I will never meet my “True Love.” That one person that is better for you than any other human being on this earth. Because what if we never meet, if we just keep living our lives settling for second best while our one perfect match is out there oblivious to our presence. Thinking we could never be happier. But if we met each other, any other feeling we’ve ever had in our lives would be obsolete. It’s ineffable really. There could be an ocean between you and your soul mate. A language barrier, a 7,068 kilometer fissure between us preventing our paths from ever crossing. I have to push this thought from my mind daily, because just thinking that I’ll never meet you breaks my heart. I don’t even know you, but if we never meet my life will forever be incomplete.

The makeup I had meticulously painted my face with a few hours before was now forgottenly smudged down my cheeks; and the hair that had been pristine now looked greasy and half-hearted, hanging down my back in matted locks. My mask was gone and I was raw. Overly exposed like a fawn. The moon was creating patterns in the water that my drunken eyes sluggishly followed as I tried to piece together my broken bits. The thoughts I’d been evading were creeping up again, no longer held off by the haze of the party. I can feel each thought I carry weighing on me heavier than mercury, pulling me down into the river. I puckered my lips, desperately pulling in the fresh smoke I’d just lit and turning my head towards the shadow that now loomed over me. It was you. You sat down next to me and I passed you the cigarette, without a word. This was me waving the white flag. The white flag that had been precariously placed around its nicotine center. The nicotine that had coated your tar black heart. I could almost taste the sour burn in the back of my throat as I watched you so intently, that I felt my eyes must be burning as brightly as the slowly dwindling **** hanging from your slightly chapped lips. But the only thing I needed to inhale to get me high was you. It was heart breaking to watch you like this. With the moon in your eyes and the smell of ***** and drugs clinging to your clothes. You were an other worldly creature. Your nimble fingers brushing your mouth as smoke seeped from between your full lips. When you looked over at me, dissecting me with your crystalline irises. I swear, the moon blushed almost as hard as I did. Bare toes curling, I gathered some courage but your gaze still made me weak, cutting through me like glass my gaze flashed between your eyes and your lips, trying to decide which was the more precious site. Right then and there, it seemed so simple with the moonlight soaking into my skin I leaned in and kissed you hard, before you had a chance to take another deep puff. My mind clouded over and all I had the desire to do was kiss until both our lips were swollen and tinted red. You pulled me closer and I could taste the mixing alcohol our tongues were creating, savouring it. I could feel your heavy heart pushing on my chest and your hot touch all over. Me, the girl stuck in a body that can’t love her. And you, the boy with the world inside his mind that spilled out every time he spoke. We’d be a mess by morning but neither of us cared. When the sun rose the love we’d felt that night wouldn’t exist. This was just our way to get by, our way to live.

I need you to hold me,
tight and close.
My chest feels like its caving in.
Like a black hole has opened up inside my rib cage
and is slowly devouring me from the inside out.
I want your arms wrapped around me,
muscles tensed and skin warm.
Pulling me closer to you
in an attempt to hold together all of my broken pieces.
Nimble fingers putting me together like a puzzle.
But there are parts missing that you cannot even fathom.  
Parts of myself that I don’t even understand.
As long as I’m wrapped up in you
I don’t care about my missing fragments,
because you make me feel more complete than I ever have.