our love... exists. our love exists, behind closed doors, behind four walls that push up against my lungs squeezing until I suffocate. our love exists while you stand there and stare, open mouthed unable to accept the fact that you denied a delicate butterfly the right to take off that you set fire to a field of tulips that were begging for new fallen rain. you touch me with electricity, but i am used to this burn. i am used to this broken feeling; the feeling after your wings have been plucked off and every last layer of skin has been set on fire.