I must have had a 'perishable' sticker on my heart when you came along. We are all just dates to best be used by, or, at least, that's what I told myself while you consumed me. I love the way you consume me, in the physical sense that your very presence engulfs my own in a way that makes me nothing more than a piece of meat grinding between your jaws. My insignificance is so significant to you that you tell me about it often, and I never hear the end of of it. I never want to hear the end of it because I think I love you but I only think I do because I never watched my parents love at all, so I can only assume. I want to break lines and talk about you in a cliche way, but you are too much of a run-on sentence for that and the line breaks make me think of my spine under your hands and I can't go back to that. The walls are calling again but this time, I can't bring myself to answer.