Nobody has ever left me just once. They always come back to see how their absence dulled the vibrance in my eyes before disappearing again.
I’ll never be busy enough to not miss you.
If you were a book
I’d lick my fingers
and flip your pages,
until your spine creased
and you lay spent,
with nothing else to offer.
Then, I’d cup you in my palms
and read you again.
I hope you know that no one will love you like I did. That’s not bitter, or resentful, it’s just the truth.
You are so used to your features, you don’t know how beautiful you look to a stranger.