Reasons we don't work

She doesn't like dogs, only cats, not even the small cute fuzzy ones. I mean, I don't like holding a fur ball that can fit comfortably in one hand.

Our favourite music tastes speak different languages, and although I have them on my playlist just for her to catch like an easter egg. I don't understand French and yet I add them for her

She reminds me of a sweet strawberry mid summer all red and juicy and I am an overcooked pepper all wrinkled and burnet along the edges

Their name is like the green of the ocean in clean water. It reminds me of a holiday that I have yet to come back home from.

On my desk is a rubix cube that is half finished. I have one face solved and two rows completed but I cannot go any further because I have yet to memorise the algorithm and I can't find a website that shows me what to do. It it uncompleted yet it taunts me with its bright colours

She paints, she wants to become a graphic designer. Her work is modern and stylish, all clean edges and smooth lines. My artwork is rough and scratchy like mad men painting their troubles and always on paper.

Loving them was like ignoring the cars as I crossed the road without looking both ways and expecting not to get hit.

They are clean and dress well all colour coordinated with long frilly dresses. I dress like I'm going on a cold run with gym leggings and a jumper that I got from my work, i'm ready for anything.

I treat love like my first tequila shot that my taste buds are unwilling to accept. It is a foreign gift that I have yet to declare in the airport of my heart.

My love is like postcards that haven't got the stamp on so close to being sent yet without them they are ineligible to be delivered.

Love is like renting a house that I only recognise as I'm driving out of the driveway, love is looking back to the home that I will always leave.

Loving her was the act of keeping a secret, love was hidden for her an adventure of how long we could keep the game going until their parents found out. Their love was how quickly they could separate their stitched hands from mine when her mother walked into the room.

Her love was public until she entered the privacy of her own home.

I want a front porch love that kisses goodbye at the end of the evening filled with the breath of an open atmosphere. Her love was a closed door with nothing but a goodbye only later to text me a kiss.

Although she was a puzzle piece in my life she didn't fit in the section of my heart even though I tried every single combination she wasn't the right fit. Like the rubix cube that i have yet to finish I won't give up trying to make her fit into my life.

I have yet to find a moment in my day where she is not walking beside me in my imaginations, like an unwelcome guest I have yet to ask her to leave.