i’m sorry that i love you
and i mean it sincerely,
it’s just that your edges
fit mine so perfectly
and without your hip
resting against mine
i feel incomplete.
it’s not romantic
to feel incomplete.
it’s not romantic
to feel like your pieces
are scattered across the earth
rather than nestled between
your fingers, your ribs.
it’s not romantic to feel you everywhere
my mattress, my bloodstream.
we are on opposite sides
of a universe that rests behind
the veins in your eyelids.
and i am sorry.
so, so sorry
that i cannot be whole
without the weight of
your fingerprints, your lips.
maybe human beings are not built
to fall in love with each other.
all we ever seem to do
is break the irreparable;
hearts, homes, dreams.
but i do not regret falling
for your green, green eyes,
the freckles behind your shoulders,
the dandelion tattoo
placed delicately on
your forth knuckle.
i’m just sorry that it’s you.
i’m sorry that you’re the one
who’s making me miserable.
i’m sorry that you can never
give that piece back.
please, tuck it away in a drawer somewhere.
wrap it in your grandmother’s linen,
hide it from your friends, your lovers.
hide it from yourself.
one day i’ll open up
my ribcage, my sternum,
one day i’ll pick up the scattered pieces
and learn to be whole on my own.
[a/n: I don’t usually write like this but I preferred how it read broken up and yeah idk please let me know what you think ily]
