Am I dreaming?
Cigarette smoke. That nicotine-stained thumb. Your second-hand mouth.
It may have been his hands tying the knot behind my head, but I put on the blindfold myself.
the answer is the same.
I can’t figure out which hurt more: loving you or missing you.
How do you explain something to someone else that you don’t fully understand yourself?
I miss you. He’s everything you are not, and I hate you, I hate you so very much.
I know I love you because what I feel for you sometimes is too much for my body to hold.
It does not matter how it begins. The ending is always the same.
I remember the first time my body tried to tell me something.