Redacted*

I met you when I was sixteen,
a glance, a laugh across the room.

Weeks passed, yet every step I took
was searching for you in the crowd.

We went for coffee—
I hated coffee, so you ordered mine.

The worst drink I'd ever tasted,
yet perfect,
for it carried the thought of you.

Wallet in hand, money on the counter,
yet you paid.
Illogical, I thought, strange—
but now I know,
logic fades in your presence,

and only one truth remains:
Because you're you,

and I love you.
So here I am, saying it again—
I love you.

I bled.

Warmth seeped into my cold arms,
The vivid hue a reminder of life within me,
And me within life.

No pain—only a thought:
Is this the shade of burgundy you love,
Or is it darker?

If I were to capture it in a painting,
would you hang it?

Would it move you more
if you knew the source?

For even my emptied veins, a sacrifice,
Remains unworthy of you.