The first time we fell in love, we carved our initials into the back of a library book. I was afraid we’d get in trouble, but you insisted, so enamored with the idea that someone else would see it, someone else would open up a page and see our beginning. See how badly we just wanted one another.
The second time we fell in love, we were older, but not any wiser. You kept trying to kiss away my memory and I was doing the opposite. I spent months convincing myself romance wasn’t on the menu. Never again, it’s easier that way, I’d say. But then you were back breathing on my neck and I was screaming your name. Then we were back in the place we said was done.
The third time we fell in love, we were confusing love with habit. We were confusing love with routine. Our bodies felt safe, so we chalked it up to soulmate stuff.
You, with that helium heart,
how we’d get so close and without second thought,
you’d float away.
How I’d still find you weeks later
You’d say, “I need something else.”
I’d say, “So don’t keep landing on my doorstep.”
Me, with my leaky eyelids,
how I wanted to cry out your pain,
I’d take the brunt of it.
I’d shoulder the load.
We fell in love so many times, it’s easy to think that’s stardust lover stuff. But it’s not. Because each time we fell in, we also fell back out.
We kept falling back out.
I think we should remember
how often we fell back out.