"Was he a good kisser?"

I couldn't say.

I know they were the best kisses of my life.
And I'm not just talking past tense.
It will never be better.
It will never be him again.

I can say he tore my heart out every time he left me.
I can say he ****** it back in every time he returned, reminding me what it was like to feel so deeply.
I can say when my knee grazed his I could feel electricity shooting up my body.
I can say he was the greatest love my life will ever have.

I have no idea if he was a good kisser.
It didn't really matter.
He was a good person.
He was the best person I've ever met.
He is funny and smart and witty and forgiving and caring and adventurous and handsome and FUN.

When I kissed him I felt dizzy and ecstatic and lucky and beautiful and LOVED.
I didn't have any room to notice how his lips moved.

I have this great talent, at putting things in a box.
At not feeling guilt.
At not even thinking about it.

It's great for me.
Not so much for the people I put in the box.

It makes you wonder, when is it too much?
This one guy was cheated on
so it's okay he refuses to get into relationships.
This one person was abused
so it's okay he has anger problems.
This one girl was *****
so it's okay she cheats on her boyfriend.

At what point does what happened to someone
justify what they're doing to someone else?

Because most serial killers
got abused by their parents.

So if something bad has happened to you
I'm really sorry
But that doesn't justify you treating others incorrectly.

I always heard that guys love mystery.
And that terrifies me.

Because one day I'll be sitting in our living room
And our daughter will ask me a question.
And my husband will answer her because he knows exactly what I was going to say.

Because one day my husband and I will get into a fight and he'll say sorry, and then he'll say, "I know, I know, 'if I was sorry I wouldn't have done it.'"

Because one day I'll tell him about my day.
And it will be the exact same day as every other day I've told him about.

Because one day I'll try to lighten the mood with a funny story,
But he's already heard it; twice.

Because one day he'll meet someone at work.
And she'll surprise him.
She'll be full of mystery.
And I won't have any left.

I get tired of things.
I use them as much as possible
Until I don't like them anymore.

Whenever I have a favorite song
I listen to it over and over and over
Until I'm completely sick of it.
And I don't like it anymore.
In fact
I hate it.

And sometimes I eat so much of something
That I don't want it again
At least not any time soon.

I've done three years of debate
And loved every minute of it.
But to be honest
I'm kind of over it.

And I've liked a lot of guys in my lifetime
Once I get them
If I do
I'm over it.
I'm over them.

But sometimes I hear my old favorite song on the radio.
Or I taste that food I gorged on.
Or I have to watch someone debate, instead of debating myself.
Or I hear the guy's name.

And I love it all over again.

My name isn't Rosie
It's Rose.
That's what it says on my birth certificate
That's what everyone calls me.
That's what I introduce myself as.
My name's Rose.

But when I was younger everyone called me Rosie.
When someone was annoyed with me, they'd call me Rose.
All my memories of someone calling me Rosie are nice.

Rose sounds grown up to me.
It makes me more accountable.
Which sounds really dumb.

Honestly, I like the name Rose more.
But sometimes I just want to be little girl again
I want to be Rosie.