I swear you could break my heart with just a flick of your wrist. You could kiss my forehead, stroke the back of my neck and tell me I mean nothing to you but some attention and an ego boost.
How magnetic am I? Am I enough for you to swing your arrow around to point in my direction? Can I pull you in with a simple charge or is it less? Do I tug even remotely on those anxious heart strings? If I were to turn negative would we push each other away? Not quite touching, always attracting; your positive and my negative, my tears and your grin, my insecurities and your surety.
You step on flowers when you walk. And each petaled step you take towards me forces me to be a little more vulnerable, a little less careful, a lot more caring.
You scare me.
You scare me silent. I’m never silent. I’m loud and passionate. I run down boulevards shouting poetry and I tell people to kiss like they’re tasting the stars and I inhale summer breezes like I’ll die if I don’t. I’m desperate. Desperate for midnight adventures, for blankets, for stars and screams and magnetism.
Magnetism! I don’t think you know how happy that made me when you called me that. How badly I wanted to sink into my mattress and sob golden tears from the ball of fire you light in my chest.
You scare me.
You’re so right and good and lovely. You’re lovely!
I don’t get right and good and lovely. I get dark and controlling and destructive. I get unanswered phone calls and middle fingers. No Halloween kiss, no starlight cuddle, no celestial compatibility can stop the possibility of this eventually ending; for me to resume my spot on the floor, for this superlunary brief reality to get a little darker.
Maybe you’re just like him. Maybe you’re the worst person on the planet, maybe you’ve figured out exactly how to make me tick. Hold my hair, kiss me insane, call me cosmic. Maybe I’m your worst nightmare, maybe I make you tick and lose control and feel weird. Maybe our hearts are the wrong kind of magnets. Maybe we don’t stick and you break me and I’m forced to rip apart my own still soul.
But maybe we fit. Maybe you kiss me like I’m the most important person in your world and you hold my hands like they’re coated with gold. Maybe you tuck my hair behind my ears, whisper “I adore you” and sink me into my mattress only with the intention of appreciating ferociously every part of my broken being.
Maybe we fit.