A beautiful woman once sang "My Love is Mine, All Mine."
Meaning no matter what I lost,
I would always have the most precious and irreplaceable thing in my possession,
my love.
I would find that beautiful lyric to be so smart, so true,
so vulnerably sweet.
This was until I had met him

I don't exactly know when he had went from
"Just a boy"
To:
My Heart,
Or My Sweet Boy,
Or My Precious Gem.
I just know that he had earned those titles quite quickly

Our time together was magical.

I was already a chronic laugher,
but with him who knew,
that butterflies in your stomach
could also make you grovel on the ground
whilst gasping for air?
Almost like cramps,
only the pain would be everywhere;
especially your heart.

One could easily call this love, but no,
I had a brain the size of a walnut.
I didn't call this love.
Everything but love,
A Bored Crush
         A Little Hyperfixation
                     A Cool New friend
Anything but that.
My love had belonged to
                       me and
                                   only
                                          me!
I would not entrust it with a man!
a man that makes me feel safe,
heard, cared for,
not even worth mentioning, protected!

If you'd asked me a couple months ago
I'd have called it absolute bull.
Though a couple months ago,
I was incredibly stupid.
To let go of such a man should be a crime,
punishable by death.

Our time together was magical,
So magical that even I am unable to
                                         glorify
                                                  departure.

How could my biggest boundary,
grow to be my biggest regret?
I have grown into finding normality in toxicity, thus self-sabotaging any beautiful thing
I could've shared with a romantic other.
How selfish of me.

My Heart,
My Sweet Boy,
My Precious Gem.
Please return back to me my love.
It has no business being with you.

My Heart,
My Sweet Boy,
My Precious Gem;
whom left me in such a rut.
How much longer should you take?
Must you make me wallow in my loneliness forever?

My Heart,
My Sweet Boy,
My Precious Gem.
You will continue to fault me,
for mistakes I was unaware I even commit.

My Heart,
My Sweet Boy,
My Precious Gem.
You have ruined this beautiful letter of dignity for me,
I care no more for my own love,
and self respect.
You are free to take it, to keep even
May my own mind, body, and soul protect yours, as you sleep.

You need not to elucidate anything to me.
I understand and will continue to grovel in my faults,
to reminisce my sacred moments with you.

Beautiful woman,
were you so true with your words?
Does my love really belong to me?
Should I even be granted such a luxury
with my wrongdoings?

My Sweet Boy, It would seem that, my love, it belongs to you.
I am unaware of whether or not you own it all, or a fraction.
I only know that my love is yours,
You replaced that irreplaceable piece,
How silly that my heart seemed to have
only started beating when, you clumsily touched it.

My Heart
My Dear Boy
My Precious Gem,
Our time together was magical
I will cherish it for as long as my heart,
                        beats
                                 for
                                     you.

"i am a forest fire
and i am the fire and i am the forest
and i am the witness watching it
i stand in a valley watching it
and you are not there at all"
- 'a burning hill' - Mitski

it genuinely boggles my mind
when i try to fathom
how it is actually possible
to contain an immense amount
of warmth and love for someone

loving someone
to the extent that it transcends physicality?
to the extent that it encompasses
more than just the body and the soul?

i could go on and on,
ramble endlessly,
and write about how the act of selflessly giving yourself
to another person is seemingly something akin to breathing --
natural, unsought, easy, and innate

but i fear it would still not be able
to fully encapsulate the depth and ferocity
of this closely-knit emotion
that this frail body of mine holds.

(i could certainly try
but it would take a millennium)

It’s been a while since I’ve written anything.
It’s 6:57 in the morning and I’m munching pretzels.
I don’t care about the crumbs in the bed this time.
Normally I would, but this morning I don’t bother.
I think it’s because I know that I’ll clean them out when I wash my sheets next week.

I have to be at work in a few hours.
I moved back to a familiar town because the stress of trying to exist in a new place was too much.
Normally I love a challenge, but I should have listened to my father.
He said “It doesn’t matter what you do, you’re good at whatever you try to be good at.”

And that just about sums up the last 4 years.
Not being good at anything,
Because I don’t want to be good at it.
Finding niche hobbies that capture my imagination for a little smidge of time.
But all the while my patience is gaunt in the cheeks.

So that’s why I don’t mind the crumbs in the sheets.