I can tell you’ve never been touched like a hurricane doesn’t matter like 40 below or a deep papercut between your thumb and your index couldn’t do any more harm than a teddybear or marigold — but that was before me
before me, you’ve never been touched and you’ve never touched quite like dissolving into the fresh dew on dawn’s grass and you’ve never stopped to feel your ****** like stopping to smell the roses on a worthwhile jaunt or the daffodils or the lilac trees, purple and white or to smile at a happy sunflower like all of your little hesitancies and horrors are of little to no caliber
before me, you’d never go a night without at least a sip of something, you’d never give yourself a chance to be yourself in the sober light of love
you’re shy and you avoid it but if you counted the number of empty wine & beer bottles on your balcony, you’d finally know you ought to stop pouring at night and figure out how to explore at night; dip your fingers in gooey paint and smear every colour on the pavement for hours and hours until the sun awakes like you have the power to love
and at first, it will, like frostbite, like papercuts all over your palms, like cartoon cliff jumps that can never **** you, like getting fired or evicted or rejected because remembering something as fierce and as merciless as love is heartbreakingly overwhelming for the fact that
and forgetting does not make you strong or shrewd it’ll only ***** you over and give you a blubbery beer belly and empty bottled balcony and before me, I’m pretty sure you thought your life was a tragedy because drinking feels nice and *** releases hurt but I’m just not interested in being with an alcoholic, so it’s best we stop taking off our shirts.