Why is it that every time I try and write,
only love arrives?
The kind of love that makes me miss you
and wish we were still together if I hadn't ****** up.
You were the only one that ever made me giddy, and the only one who gave me butterflies.

The kind of love that makes me hate you
for all the horrible, wretched things you did to me.
You were the only one that was so toxic with substance, that I was getting high off of your manipulation.

The kind of love that makes me realize
I should have never kissed you, or your brother.
You two were the only ones who I called best friends, worst flings, and the smartest twins I know.

The kind of love that still makes me nervous
when you speak or cross a room.
You were the only girl I ever fell for, and you made me feel empowered, yet so small.

The kind of love that makes me hate you...
You were the only one I truly regret, and I'm not sorry you're gone.

The kind of love I haven't even experienced yet,
                                                                              but those lips gave me electricity, and I haven't stopped burning through my own mind yet, and I don't believe I will until I can meet them again.