I crawled into your bed last night,
I may have paid for it but you owned every last fiber,
With the comforter astray,
The pillows stacked,
The windows open,
And the lights warm like they were on the night I first told you I loved you,
It was was your bed.
And this heart in my chest?
That was yours too.

And as the star lights twinkled,
I struggled to fall asleep in the cold air that reeked of your absence.
This was hell in a home,
And home was something I could only find in you.

You told me I was safe in the moment,
Right there in that moment,
With warm skin pressed against mine,
And the tears could not help fall,
Because for the first time I felt safe,
And for the first time I understood the hopeless desire to make a moment last forever.

And I believe that all of these cliches fall out of a thing I call love for you,
And I will not breathe them to a single person,
Because no one will understand how looking a man in the eyes and hearing him say he looks at you and feels nothing,
Can take your breathe away,
And maybe its because you found someone who also feels nothing when they look at you,
So similar in heart that they love you the way you love your own reflection,
Not at all on most days,
And a little less when smoke has filled your lungs, the room, and every void left by the prior excuses you attempted to call love,
That you make an excuse,
To look past every red flag,
To lose sight at the thought of a warning label,
And drop into the only void you can find that seems deeper than your own.

So when I ask you,
What is love?
It is not fire,
It is not the ***** I keep in the empty bottles that you leave,
It is not ******* through the tears,
It is emptiness.
It is knowing that I need you even though our love has never been worth a single ******* thing