I lost all respect for you the day you ripped out your own spine and buried it beneath the remains of our forgotten romance.  As long as we can remember, you've been running from the constellations you roped in and scrawled on my shoulder blades, reciting every landmark with a reassuring confidence I tripped over on that rainy day a year ago. Remind me, dear, how I repulse you and stole your reputation right out of the coffin where you keep your rosary and restless demons. You refused the paper hearts I reluctantly crafted out of my fears and reckless dreams, so I remained weary and hidden in the corners of you cracked, rosy lips. I'm too tall for that roller coaster but I'm too short to be reached, and I know I'm easily read but I'm really tired of being just another road block on your way to the moon. That day, one year ago, I reinvented myself. You're done strumming my wrists and writing my story, tying this recurring nightmare into every ribbon of my plot, because It's mine and I shouldn't have to reveal myself to you, so I've been taking my time and raveling myself back into the real me where there is no recycling of hearts and all I have to worry about is repairing what you ruined with those three, ruthless words-
*I love you.