I Don’t Know What to Call This

On this day last year, I loved you.
I loved you so much.

But I wasn’t here.

I didn’t even exist.

I’ve burnt myself to the ground so many times and sifted through the remnants and rebuilt with what I’ve found. I am the pile of limbs that sold her soul to the devil for 27 years of everything.

And still I manage to be everything I’d rather not be.

I stopped loving so many people that I don’t know who this is talking to. I don’t know who you are. Perhaps that was the problem; perhaps that is why like frost on a window we parted ways with the morning sun.

I just need someone who, when I wearily start to prise off my fingernails, will just hold me. Will tell me that I don’t need to deconstruct myself. That they’ve got me, no matter how sharp my edges are. That they’ve got me.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s