each time he kisses me he kisses me like he’ll never see me again / each time you kissed me you kissed me like you wanted to never see me again

i have been thrown away so many times that you all are just enjoying digging through the ******* trying to find pieces you want to like

i want to be called beautiful again,
a word that sneaks its way into a sentence you say to me,
something you don’t realize that you’re doing.
i want to be called beautiful again,
and i want it to always mean something,
not lose its meaning if it’s said too much.
i want to be called beautiful again,
so much so that i start to believe it.

don’t you ever dare say you didn’t expect it.
when i finally crash my car into a tree,
take a few extra pills with a bottle of *****,
or trace the blue veins on my wrist with knife,
don’t you dare say you didn’t expect it.
don’t say i was beautiful.
don’t say i was okay.
because i screamed i wasn’t so many ******* times,
and yet you still left me crying on the floor,
wanting sleep more than for me to feel better.

what did i get myself into
to fall for someone like you

i want your bad days to become my bad days and our bad days become our good days.
i want to fall asleep to your kiss at night and wake up to you pulling me closer in the morning when we should both be getting out of bed.
i want your hand on my thigh during car rides,
i want you to sing whatever song is playing through your car’s speakers,
tapping your fingers on my skin to the beat.
i want your lips in my hair as you pull me into you on a chilly day,
using each other for warmth.
i want to hold your hand through grocery stores, parks, the mall, new cities we explore.
i just want to hold your hand.
i want to feel your smile on my lips when i kiss you,
as if kissing me is the best thing you could ever possibly experience.
i want you and i’m not ashamed of it anymore.

holding a new hand after 3 years of the same familiar fingers curled around mine is a concept i never would have thought i needed to master.
his hand isn’t yours;
his fingers don’t meet mine like yours did,
but holding his hand makes me feel wanted,
something you never made me feel these last few months.
i’m always going to love you,
but i think i’m starting to fall in love with a new hand grasping hold of mine.