I guess I won that stupid fight of "I love you more."

When you ask of me, why poetry
I'm not sure you understand
That it's the center of my universe
The very depth of who I am

The molecules in the air I breath
Oxygen pulsing through the veins
The storm brewing beneath the surface
The pounding of the rain

It's the timeless anticipation
Of the thought that's yet to come
The tearing open of life's seam
The beating of the drum

The first peak of the desert flower
When it feels the gentle touch of spring
The smile in the eyes of a child
And all the joy it brings

The in and out of the tide
In the pulling of the waves
When you ask of me, why poetry
What more is there to say

I do not like this phase of a heart break.

When you purposely avoid love songs,
Or sometimes you play them just to make yourself feel like your hearts still pounding.

When the person you loved and hid from every waking soul is brought into a conversation.
Or when he isn't.

When you see other lovers who have made it years without the cruel hand of fate ripping their love from them.
Or when you see they haven't.

When you notice him writing you smaller, casual messages when they use to be breathtaking and beautiful.
Or when he doesn't write at all.

When I ask you if I am pushing you away and you say no.

"Alright, happy birthday! Text me later tonight?"

"Will do"

When every hidden goodbye ends with those two words. And my broken, belittled heart.

(i. r.)

"I love you," I said.
The sound of my heart breaking overcame the silence that followed.

a.g

You answered just a little too fast.
It surprised me.
I haven't seen you in about a year,
And I am realizing I've missed you.
It surprised me.
The last time I saw you,
And the time before that,
You were intoxicated.
It surprised me.
I haven't seen you in about a year,
And I am realizing what you are to me.
It surprised me.
You are a dress without hems or seams.
I hardly know you but you are beautiful.
You are the bullet in the rotating cylinder of the gun to my head.
You dig through my skull and explode my amygdala.
And force me to love you.
You are the jam in the barrel as I pull the trigger.
I fell to the ground in realization:
You both killed me and saved me.
It surprised me.

I would lie and say anything you wantmeto. But what you want me to say is that I do not love you. And that's just notsomething I'm willing to lie about.

Romance is not love - they are different things.
Romance is a subtle gesture, the turn of a head, the twinkle in an eye, the electric charge between two people that sparks on contact. Romance is desire, seduction, passion and lust. It is restrained, spontaneous and exciting. It is not on the menu of a fancy restaurant, or on the receipts of expensive gifts. Romance is found in little things, special things, and it is far too elusive and precious to be bought or sold - whatever the price.
Romance is not love, but if tended to and nourished, romance will take root, grow, bud, blossom and bloom. And when it does, love will lie in it's petals.