With me, you bloom, you laugh, we ride. At home, you pull the petals back in and hide. You kiss my mouth and bite my lips. You slap my ass and squeeze my hips. You touch, you taste, you always savor. And as you fell, you became much braver. Your life away must always come first. But when you are gone, I fear the worst. Our romance is destined to be caught in a song, In a moment of time when the music comes on. I know what you need, I’ve seen your heart through your eyes. You’ve whispered, you’ve hinted, but you’re telling more lies. Your secret, my love, is safe with me... No soul has to know that you truly crave three.
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.
Writing is therapy. Get the words and thoughts out of your head and onto the screen or paper. Breathe.