step one // live in denial for most of your life. tuck yourself into closets and cupboards and slow-cooking pots of rice until all you have left to offer her is your warming breath
step two // warm her hands with your breath. tell her she's worth more than that guy, than the number on the scale, than her grades, than anything in the world
step three // don't think about kissing her when her lips are bitten with worry. don't think about kissing her when you're tired and it's two a.m. and god, she looks so beautiful today. don't kiss her. don't kiss her
step four // let your breaths fill the closets again. you are eternal, you are infinite, you are alone, but you still have her
step five // write her a poem. metaphorize your heart of glass. verbally trace her hipbones. tell her she is a constellation.
step six // "accidentally" give her the poem. laugh it off when she says that poetry's not her thing, anyway.
step seven // only cry when you are alone.
step eight // bare your skeletons to her unflinching mouth. it's cold and dark where she comes from, too
step nine // when she tells you she loves you, let her. hold onto her tight enough to shatter your ribcage.
step ten // let her tear the breath from your lungs-it's all you had left, anyway.
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 10:21 AM UTC
step one // live in denial for most of your life. tuck yourself into closets and cupboards and slow-cooking pots of rice until all you have left to offer her is your warming breath
step two // warm her hands with your breath. tell her she's worth more than that guy, than the number on the scale, than her grades, than anything in the world
step three // don't think about kissing her when her lips are bitten with worry. don't think about kissing her when you're tired and it's two a.m. and god, she looks so beautiful today. don't kiss her. don't kiss her
step four // let your breaths fill the closets again. you are eternal, you are infinite, you are alone, but you still have her
step five // write her a poem. metaphorize your heart of glass. verbally trace her hipbones. tell her she is a constellation.
step six // "accidentally" give her the poem. laugh it off when she says that poetry's not her thing, anyway.
step seven // only cry when you are alone.
step eight // bare your skeletons to her unflinching mouth. it's cold and dark where she comes from, too
step nine // when she tells you she loves you, let her. hold onto her tight enough to shatter your ribcage.
step ten // let her tear the breath from your lungs-it's all you had left, anyway.
