when I loved you, I wrote poetry every day
sometimes for long hours at night
I would walk around my neighbourhood in the middle of the night with a cigarette
between *******,
but I never inhaled because I never wanted to get addicted
I was already too addicted to you
and other behaviours that made it so hard to love you

but when I did love you, I’d write beautiful words on my skin
with permanent marker
because I liked the idea of a tattoo but knew I’d never get one
real permanence scared me
I’m the kind of person that changes her mind as often as she changes the colour of her nail polish
(nearly every day)
what a relevant metaphor; you were my untrue tattoo

when I loved you, I’d stay up really late wondering
if you were high or drunk again or ******* some pretty young girl
and when I got my chance, I’d kiss you til the windows of your
parked-in-the-middle-of-nowhere truck would steam up
what kind of love is that anyway?
it was a sport
an always-on-your-toes, merciless game
waiting to score
waiting to lose

but when I really loved you, none of it actually existed
it was just you and me and a long road of ******* ahead of us
it didn’t matter until it did
it came and left as it was
and love was as true as it could’ve been
we happened to each other
just because