You don’t know the full time job that is taking care of my body. You don’t know what happens when I take days off from that job.
I’m awful about your name. I still jump when I hear it. I still feel it rattling somewhere in my stomach. I think I’m jealous of anyone that gets to say it because it’s not my right anymore. Years from now I’ll be standing in a supermarket and someone will casually brush past me, your name falling from their mouth like confetti. I’ll drop everything that I’m holding. My knees will wobble in the way they only did when I was with you. Years from now I’ll still remember how your name tasted in my mouth and I’ll have to start missing you all over again.
But I’d rather sleep with junkies than with angels
As the moonlight turns all of us to werewolves
And sunrise, it’s just a gorgeous bedtime,
The way the light hits the cheap wine.
He’d never cared much for strawberries, but that summer her lips were so stained with the juices that they were all he tasted.
And he’d never had a favourite fruit, but two years later, a new girl is sat in front of him, laughing at his jokes.
"If you could only eat one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be?" She asks playfully.
And he remembers how her hands traced the veins in his neck and made their way across his chest. He remembers her soft breathing and limbs draped across his shoulders.
"Strawberries." He tells her. "I could live a life on nothing but strawberries."
This is why it hurts the way it hurts.
You have too many words in your head. There are too many ways to describe the way you feel. You will never have the luxury of a dull ache.
You must suffer through the intricacy of feeling too much.
Suddenly, every song was about you.