i'm breathing
with my breath caught in my throat
because your fingers are wrapped around my neck
but so are your lips
my heart is ready to break
and so are my bones
but we are trapped in a peripheral moment
and if i may i'd like to utter one last word with our dying breaths:

*"if"

you're not perfection
(and never could be)
but darling
(though you see everyone that way indefinitely)
no one ever is
*(or ever could be)

you were never supposed to hurt this much
they said love would be good for me
for the both of us.

you were supposed to be the breeze in my face as I strolled along the simple shores
not the tiny coarse grains of sand I didn't notice stinging my eyes
or the persistent wave constantly knocking me over
as I tried to savour the sea.
you were going to be the cool wind on a hot summer's day
not the heavy storm that drowned my garden
and the dark cloud obstructing the sun's light so my flowers were never allowed to bloom again.

you were pain
and your grip was endless
why did I think you could heal when you were the cause?