you must’ve been mine for lifetimes. i must’ve taught you how to read, or ride a bike, or cook, or run. we must’ve met on the streets of ancient rome, or in passing jericho, or selling you a car in london, or teaching you to fight in sparta, or closing your tomb in egypt. i must’ve been your person every single lifetime.
the worst sadness i’ve ever felt was grieving you while you were still very much alive.
you remember that my favorite color is orange. and no organs like a sunset, but orange like a papaya. you remember that my favorite food is pasta and that i hate the taste of steak. you remember my two childhood dogs and nickname my mother told you on a random weekend back home. you remember me in a way i only wish to remember myself. you remember me beautiful.
i wonder what 10 year old me would do if i told her that her best friend is actually the love of her life.
pure bliss is a high i never want to be sober of. i feel on top of the earth my feet have always been glued to. this must be that freedom the wanderers speak of.
though i am surrounded by hundreds of people each day, i feel so completely isolated from the outside world. someone bigger must’ve put me in a jar in failing effort to save me.
i am not just a feminist, i am a supporter of people.
my heart mourns you for weeks. my brain takes care of my body while my hearts barely beats on.
i am completely fine cleaning up my own mess.
i barely survived being everything but your lover.