Not everything meaningful Has to be written In the middle of the night you know.
Just like not every time he breathes A flower must bloom.
And you try so hard to convince yourself of this, That you carve it into your own skin, Deeper and deeper and deeper until The words are physically engrained In black letters on your ribcage
Which all sounds sort of scary. Especially to people who always Double knot their shoelaces.
At 5:16 in the afternoon On a Sunday, when there are at least 7 other things your mother would Rather have you doing, It is ok to admit that even though you Said your biggest fear was spiders, You are scared beyond compare;
Not of loving him, Because loving him is the only thing you've ever done, that hasn't made you feel like you're desperately forcing puzzle pieces together that do not fit,
But of your souls assimilating, painting the most beautiful piece of art that heaven ever saw, And one day, watching him wake up, feeling the light disappear from your smile as you reach for the love you used to see in his eyes, And being stripped of every **** thing you thought you knew, as you realize it's no longer there.