I read somewhere
that there's
no fear in love

then I have never
been in love
and know
nothing at all.

because
I'm afraid
of the day you died
the nightmares at night
and being forever
haunted by your ghost.

There's no fear in love?
But I'm afraid to let you go.

I’m starting to believe
that falling in love is just a hoax.
It’s completely twisted,
and if you’ve ever been in love,
you’d know.
You find someone you fancy,
someone you can imagine being with
until the end of time.
And it’s in that moment,
that you fall - you fall in love.
You begin to give your all,
your love, attention,
your time, and affection.
But in this imperfect world,
nothing is equal,
and nothing stays the same.
You can fight it all you want,
but seasons will change -
regardless of how much you try to seize the day.
But being in love impairs you.
You become blind to things
that are as apparent as
the tears that stream down your face.
You tell yourself it’s okay,
you brush it aside.
And it’s in that moment that you fall.
You literally fall.
You crash to the ground,
and I swear to God all your bones break.
You’re completely shattered,
but you don’t notice
because you’ve got this beautiful boy
whispering in your ear,
and kissing your neck -
and nothing else matters.
You’re in the moment,
and all is well.
But then he leaves,
and you suddenly feel it.
You feel everything.
And then you’re hysterically crying
on some bench in the neighborhood,
because it’s the only place
that doesn’t taste like him.
But still, you carry on,
day after day,
in this crazy, unrelenting cycle,
that we humans call love.

You know that feeling
you get when
you drive at night, and you
just want to feel the car fly, so you
push your foot as far as
it'll go down on the gas,
down to the baseboard,
your engine howling like a wolf in the
moonlight,
yet somehow it doesn't feel
fast enough?

That's what it feels like
getting over
you.

Getting over you is like
sneaking home, trying not to awaken
the parents that you
left dozing,
but every
single
solitary
stair
creaks underneath your weight.

It is the
new routine with the
broken ankle;
the unanswered
correspondance;
the sailing ship on
the windless ocean;
getting over you is the
road taken and laden with potholes;
the refusal of the snow
to melt,
my feet slipping out from underneath me
on the remaining ice.

Getting over you is the
flameless fire,
the un-Happy New Year,
the series of unhappy poems.

Getting over you
is the bottle of champagne I drank
to quench my thirst for you,
the texts I sent you and didn't remember,
the tears I shed as I begged the
universe (and anyone else in ear shot)
to explain why it had to
turn out this way.

You know that feeling where
up is down,
left is right,
inside is flipped outside?

You're gone.

I walk out of my glass house onto a pebble driveway.
My jeep sits there parked on the left.
I'm not going to drive it now.
It's late,
and my anger has the best of me.
Tying my physical actions to my mad-at-the-world mentality.
It was a moment,
it will be passed but remembered.
Should I be the responsible once of another wrong?
Throwing a stone at another house like mine won't solve anything.
I would rather let go of one wrong since two won't make a right.
I put down the stone,
go back to my glass house, let it not be shattered.
That is where my home is.
My heart may not be there too,
it was only a moment.
I'll retrieve my heart again.

The most depressed person
Seems to be the happiest
Simply
Because
They don't want anyone sad
Like them