We took turns
placing headphones
on each other and
plugging them into
our hearts in hopes
that we would be able
to hear all the things
we should have said

The fine bones of your
petite hands, skin stretching taut over the
blue rivers
of your veins
that roll and roil
across the valley of your
knuckles.

The world is held in your soft palms,
and you don't even realize you could
destroy
my universe
with a simple squeeze
of a cruel fist.

Love is a social construct. That isn’t to say you don’t feel it. A decades-old concept of romance has been shoved down your throat since childhood.

When you’re with someone and it’s real, you know it. Real relationships aren’t stereotypical; if your significant other really knows you, they will find better ways to cherish you than roses and chocolates. Real relationships are built from two separate personalities. They’re custom-made. Real relationships don’t fit into a box, so why do we keep insisting there’s only one way to “love?”

No one’s definition of love is the same– no one feels love the same way. Yet, in a conversation about it, you think you’re on the same page. I think this respective feeling transcends that word. I think it’s sad that we all try to express our own separate, unique feeling with the same three words.

“I know when you’re sad,
I can tell when you’re happy,
And I know when something is wrong.”
She says

And I believed her

“Look at his arms,
You have to admit he’s hot,
His shirtless scene is my favourite.”
She says

And I stayed quiet

“You’re always so selfish,
Never do what I want,
You only think about whats best for you.”
She says

And I tried harder

“Lets watch this,
Look at this cool thing,
I swear I’m listening.”
She says

And I knew she wasn't

“I’ll go to bed early so I won’t nap,
I went to bed at 3am,
You’re just so comfy.”
She says

And I had 2 hours to my thoughts

“I hate my mom,
She never listens to me,
I’m just not gonna listen to her.”
She says

And I didn’t give my opinion

“Read my chapter.
Have you read my chapter?
I need validation.”
She says

And I could never bring myself to read it

“You’re not a real writer,
You write really good poetry,
It's too sad for me.”
She says

And I didn’t argue

“Are you tired?
You look tired.
You should get some rest.”
She says

And I wasn’t tired

I watched her
It was like the she was breathing for the first time
Brand new lungs, air that wasn't holographic
No more illusions or tricks, just
In and out

And that's when she walked away
Saying goodbye was the first time she had ever experienced oxygen
She suddenly understood the rhythmic movements of my chest
And why I had never liked diving

And I started to choke