remember the time you were crying in the break room
because you ruined the lasagna and your boss called you
incompetent.
remember how he held you in his arms and told you
'you're too good for this place anyhow.'
don't remember how you kissed him in his driveway
in the dark
in july.
teeth on teeth,
skin on skin.
he doesn't care.
remember that. remember
that.
his face may follow the golden ratio
and his arms may be strong enough to hold you back
from jumping over the ledge into an
unending
          blissful
                  abyss,
but he doesn't love you.
he will never love you.
how could he love someone with a scarred heart
and shaky hands and a flawed sense of self?
how could he love someone who reduces him
to one hundred and fifty silly words?

if you rip open your scar and throw the stitches on the gravel,
you should expect someone to step on them.
you can't get them back now.
you have to heal all over again.