If I were paper, you could be water; And I’d allow you to seep into my skin, Not bothering how wrinkled I’d get right after.
You could also be fire; You’d burn me to ashes, But I’d love to feel your warmth all over.
Or you could be ink; And leave me with our story, Of how desperate I was for the love you could give.
a.e. (03252017, Germ Magazine)
An old piece. About an unrequited love for a boy who used to mean the world to me. But whose existence now only serves as a reminder of another lesson learned.