You ask me my thoughts,
but how do I tell you I've been considering all the different things I can break to create critical scars on beautiful veins ever since you took my favorite blade?
You remember when we drank strawberry milk out of wine glasses?
Or that time we walked in the rain,
slowing instead of speeding up because
rain doesn't wash anything away
not skin or scars or secrets
and how do I tell you that I don't love you,
and that I really wanted to run that day?
But instead I stare into ocean eyes, smile, and just tell you
I'm lost