I often wonder if we both stare at our phones, waiting for the other person to text. And then when nothing happens we are forced to accept the reality of our own inadequacies – an emotional stalemate.
I don’t want you to touch other girls with your smile, I don’t want your hands to wander to their hips the way they once wandered to mine. I don’t want to see you hanging onto their every word, plotting how to make them taste the stars. I don’t want to see you covering them with kisses and empty promises.
If I were to choose anyone to break my heart, it would be you. I would lean against that hostile brick wall until oblivion calls my name, and listen to you telling me I’m not enough all over again if it meant I could listen to you talking to me.
Just talk to me.
You planted flowers in the cracks of my heart and you had no right to do that. Every night I water them with my tears because I just can’t bring myself to let them die.
The thing is, I will lie in the dirt next to you and pour poems, instead of whiskey, down your throat. I will kiss you sober and stroke your head until sunrise. I will shiver by your side and plant my own seeds into your lungs until you realise that I am the only substance you will ever need.