In the beginning it was shaking,
Butterflies so bad they all came up.
And first kisses.
And naivety.

The shaking never went away,
But soon it was all begging.
Come home.
I need you.
I miss you.

Then it was drunk phone calls while driving at night,
Love confessions.
No responses.

Now its fantasies.
And teasing.
And reminiscing about how the only reason we ever were
Were our self-destructive tendencies.
Bad habits.

But I’m better now,
And you are too, right?
I haven’t been able to write
Since I last drew blood from my body,
I guess that’s a little concerning.