If you stick a knife through your heart, be sure to stick it in deep, through all the years, through all the tears, through all your pain, release the spirit of darkness, set it free, let it float through the clouds, let it kiss the clown.
I don't know what it's like to run a hand along your jawline. I don't know how it would feel to bury my fingers in your hair. I don't know if you prefer wine to hard liquor. I don't know if you stretch the moment your alarm goes off in the morning or if you roll back into your sheets after pressing snooze. I don't know a lot about the scar on the right side of your chest. I've only seen it once. I don't know what your eyes look like when you really love something.
I remember you asking, “What’s the hardest thing you’ve ever been through?” I knew what your response would be before it left your mouth. I hesitated to answer with my own and you said I didn't have to. It is nights like these when I wish I did.
When I see you it is mostly outside of houses where I don't belong and which you are familiar with, places where you have an abundance of friends and I have too many drinks.
You say that we'll talk soon and I remind you that you are terrible at texting. You laugh because it's true. I laugh to keep myself from spilling out my admiration for you. I laugh because your smile provides insight on how to be freer. I laugh with the hopes that doing so will teach me. _
There is an equal amount of things I know about you and things I don't. I don’t know if your eyes grow wide and out at the sight of what makes you happy, I don't know how they look when you really love something. I’d like to find that out. I’d like to see you looking up at me one day and for me to just know.