You are a calculated mistake –
something that I’ve known is wrong from the very start. And I wake up next to you every morning in my mind lately, praying that your split lips don’t sink me – even though I know it’s too late.
You’re already taking me under, because, baby –
you’re heavy like hurricane. Like a thousand drops of rain pounding down on my shoulder blades. You’re seeping into my skin and into my bloodstream. It’s only a matter of time until you spread to my heart.
It’s too late. I’m already drowning in you.
It’s too late, but god, I cannot love you. But I do, I cannot hate you. but i do.
You’re like the last boy I kissed –
which means I should already be working on forgetting the exact way your fingertips press into my hipbones or how my name sounds curled up in your mouth and the way you like to speak it so careful like a secret – like if you said it too loud, I could get away from you. Like you want to keep me. But mostly I should forget you.
And sometimes, I try, but right now, I’m calculating the exact number of words that would make me stay. That would wash away my carefully controlled emotions and make me forget to forget, because even if I say I don’t want you, I do.
I do. I swear.
Last night you told me we’re inevitable –
like the way we’re all made of stardust because of a chain reaction that set an entire universe in action.
You told me that’s how big this feeling is and that there are entire oceans living inside of you that you haven’t even begun to explore and that all of it – all of you –
could be mine.
If I want it.
Sink or swim –
I’m calling you my relapse, because the last time I felt like this, I almost didn’t make it out alive. And right now, I have lungs full of water and I’m sitting on the edge of a coastline that goes on longer than my eyes can see — so far that it terrifies me —
But we’re inevitable.
And you’re an entire ocean.
And I’m ready to drown.