As I've made quite a few new friends on Facebook and other online spaces, the request to see my face often comes up-- not as much as requests for other parts of my body but certainly often enough.
Night one without you, the pain was so raw -- a million short breaths, shallow breathing through a straw.
I’m a self-proclaimed hopeless romantic. I love romance. For me, however, romance can exist outside of love. I love love, all types of love. And, falling “in love” (not to be confused with loving someone) is the best feeling ever, but that doesn’t happen often for me. Instead, I tend to meet really amazing people who I could easily love, and with whom I can enjoy romantic moments and maybe even sex. But sex is not love and it’s not “in love.”
When you discard me, be sure to close the lid on the bin. Walk away. Don’t look back to reach in... I’ve already moved on. This side of the road, I’ve been discarded here before... I know my way home by heart. They call it muscle memory. And my heart always remembers. She never forgets.
The first time I met him, Love that is, he looked familiar. His eyes held my gaze. His mouth spit words that could nourish flower beds. His face became fam, but his tongue was a curse. Cursed. Curse him! Love that is.