her

loving me isn’t easy

that’s all I had to say, and the room echoes with disagreement and fake reassurance.

but the same room is filled with people who know me, the ghost of me,

their likeness to me which they confuse with love.

in this tangle, they forget that it’s easy to love the idea of me because I make it easy, manipulation you might call it,

but loving, wanting, and needing me is something only one person has accomplished, or so I believe.

and god! I hope it’s true, I really do.

I pray this isn’t my mind playing tricks on me again,

because this is all I’ve ever wanted,

to be loved, without proving,

to be loved with no caution, to be loved for a part of me I thought was dead,

and her. FUCK! her.

she is indescribable,

which is ironic given that this piece is in honor of her.

people ask me, “what is it you love about her?”

I stand speechless, no words leaving my lips,

just the feeling of warmth like California,

the feeling of safety, similar to the one when in prayer,

the feeling of adrenaline that if not her, then no one,

the feeling that justifies the statement, all is fair in love and war,

a feeling of optimism which made its way to my cynical heart.

so, if there’s one thing I’m dead sure of, it’s that she is it, not a part of my future, but my future itself,

which is odd to think about since I spent 17 years betting my soul I wouldn’t have one.

– just jokes