and god do i find it ironic how the more i sleep in your shirt the more your scent wears off, almost as if the closer you get to me *the further you pull away

maybe it's because it's 3am and maybe it's because he hasn't truly been with me when beside me in over a month but the more i look at him now the more i realise it's painstakingly easy for him to let go and it's embarrassingly difficult for me to do the same

when i grew up i was taught that love would walk into your life with a smile like no other; i was not taught love would be etched in cigarette butts smoked in earnest after sleepless nights and onto early mornings; i was not taught love would be sprinkled in every glass of red wine i have with the name chianti and the price £6.99 almost haunting every sip i take

the truth is, even when he's not near me i try in earnest to find him - i try to taste him long after he's gone until my mouth goes numb and my tastebuds cannot tell apart chocolate from meat, i try to find the remnants of his cologne in my bedsheets even though it's been a month since he's slept here and i've washed my sheets already because maybe, maybe there's still a chance he'll be there, i try to touch him but no longer on purpose - accidental, timid touches that have my veins screaming to seep out of my arm and grab him while they can because they need more oxygen and he was the only source of clear thinking i had for a long time

the truth is no matter how many times i wear my lucky socks, no matter how many times i buy my favourite shampoo, no matter how many bottles of wine i drink, no matter how many text messages i send, it won't make him come back, because wearing his favourite perfume doesn't change anything but the desire in his eyes and like a flame it burns bright and suddenly all within a matter of hours it stops shining altogether

call it naive, call it pathetic, call it lonely call it lost call it depressed call it wrong call it meaningless pointless tragic sad ignorant poisonous stupid, but my heart trudges forward, and i know at 03:48am that no matter how much i try, i won't be able to stop it until it has taken all the roads leading up to him

why?

so it can crash and die all over again

My bulletproof heart
cannot be penetrated by your wicked bullets.
But if you insist on firing your gun,
then grip the trigger and pull it.

I dare you.

Because I'll stand here
taking every shot,
and at the end of the day
I'll still love you a lot.

Sadly.