Some Reminders For The Next Man Who Loves Me

I have never been in the business of permanence. But for whatever reason I have decided to tattoo your name on my skin. I have learned things from my past relationships, as I’m sure you have too. I think the biggest thing that I have learned, though, is that relationships are like quizzes: the only way to pass is if you learn the necessary information about a subject before you are tested.

So, if you have decided that you are willing to learn about me, there is something you need to know:

My mind is not a hotel. You do not get to reserve a space to reside in it for a limited period of time. You cannot throw your dirty laundry all over the floor, waiting for me to pick up after you. You do not get to sniff white powder from tables to celebrate a temporary high. You are not permitted to use a shower to wash away your sins from the night before. I am not your maid; I do not exist to serve you.

And if ever you find yourself feeling like you are no more than a passerby in a foreign place, leave. Check out and leave nothing behind but a vacant room. For the empty spaces in my mind were never meant to be filled by other people, and I am so much more than a vacation.

But if you decide that you are looking for a home, then let me build it with you. Let us build a foundation that is so strong, it can carry our future. Let us build with materials that could withstand any storm. Let us reside together in this place made of promises and permanence, and let us only build up walls when we are both on the same side of them.