You slipped right through my fingers
(I never really had you any way)

I could swear up and down you don't care for me. It makes things so much easier.

Flashback to you kissing my freckled cheek while I'm asleep. Telling me words I've save for later. I'll turn them over and over in my head like worry stones.

Flashforward to you sitting with me in a crowded place. "We're just friends," you say evenly. I try my best not to squirm. Because we were never just anything.

I knew I'd pay the price for this. But who was I to give up a body that fit so well into mine?

You dowsed my ribs in gasoline when you first spoke words of your affection. You consistently threw lit matches at me.

Now you recoil and Jesus Christ, how do I begin to put myself out?

Do I even want to?

You show me a match you've saved for later. I don't know if able to reconstruct myself for the hell of it just to watch it burn later

Don't think I wasn't destructive before you. I am, and I will be infinitely. I am thinking of how my smoke built up in your lungs. Exhale now. Doing what's best for all involved parties.

"Do you know what it was like being around you, knowing I couldn't hold you?"

In that moment I'm certain somewhere in another life I would have loved you. Because all I ever wanted was the kind of romance I could write about it. The kind of sadness and longing that settles behind your ribs. If it had been a book I would've dog eared us and wept. But this is my life, real life and I can't just this back on the shelf.

Growing up I discovered that it is innate
In human nature
To find, seek, or beg for affection.
I stayed silent in order to watch those around me:
Some were good at capturing attention
Like on a warm summer night
And children and running around with glass jars
Procuring fireflies that shine like precious gems.
These children had the talent of keeping the fireflies
Dazzling for days.
Some sought after the coveted attention,
With their baited fishing poles in hand,
They patiently waited in the middle of the lake
And held onto their prize when caught
Until it died when they would go and fish for a new one.
Perhaps a longer, bigger, heavier, more valuable catch.
Some are light, ethereal,
Like a subtle perfume you can only smell
When you are mere inches away from the wearer.
They are sweet and not too persistent in their ways.
I continued to watch
And place people in these categories.
What they all in common, though,
Was selling their precious:
The fireflies, the fish, the perfume.
I looked to myself,
What did I have to sell? To offer?
Anything at all?
Surely I wasn’t as skilled as the lightning bug trapper
Or as patient as the fisherman
Or as fragrant as the perfume-wearer.
Instead, I was the girl
Who would admire the stars for all they are,
But not try to keep one;
Who would live in the now
Rather than feebly attempting to move my watch
Back a few years.
It was then I realized,
My love is not for sale.