By: Blair Hill
As I desperately try
to stay desensitized
to your eyes,
I forget myself.
The refusal to kick
the lonely girl aesthetic
is approaching artistic
in its absurdity.
I can’t take more destruction:
unending consumption
and false presumptions
of the center of my being.
The irrationality
of changing my reality
to embrace you and me
seems too problematic.
I refuse to admit
that our pieces might fit:
that you aren’t just a blip
on my broken heart’s radar.
It’s hard to love someone
when you’ve only just begun
to recover from the last one.
Why are your eyes so blue?
His love was so atypical
and you’re almost mythical;
your love is so reciprocal
when his was anything but.
Love was all I ever wanted,
and sometimes I’m still haunted,
because he always seemed so daunted
when I wanted to hold his hand.
You hold my hand with pride.
You make me feel alive,
like you’ll put your fear aside
and love me without conditions.
Because love doesn’t come conditionally;
it only occurs with open honesty
and hopefully with longevity
to create an end result.
The result doesn’t have to mean forever;
it just means staying together
and accepting an ever
changing landscape.
I’m afraid too.
But it’s just me and you.
I know we can make it through:
together?
Edited by Amy Owings