Yes. I've met others. Other people and they all go wide-eyed, craving more. More of me. And they're good people. They're not unattractive. They're kind, and caring. They have attitude, and wit. They're better than just good, actually. They're wonderful.And my brain tells me they're what I'm supposed to want. They're what my goals should look like. I should look at them with a skipping heart, completely awestruck, with sweaty palms and a drying mouth. I should feel the butterflies tracing circles in my stomach. My cheeks, ever so telling, should be glowing like strawberries.But I just don't feel that with anyone but you. You see straight through to my heart. How do I go from having that to not having that?That feeling is the high I'll be chasing the rest of my life. In every person I meet, I'll be chasing the high that is you, and what just the sight of you does to me.So I surrender to that. I surrender to always chasing you. Always wanting more. Heart skipping. Palms sweating. Mind numbing. Mouth dry. Butterflies aplenty. Completely awestruck by you.My ex left because I came inside her, I was not feeling good and my mind was numb. She dated a new guy 3 weeks later. This happened 3 years go, Why , Why , Why do I still lover her as if this had happened just a few hours ago.. She had BPD and thew a hammer at me an hour before this happened and tried to fix it with pitty sex....... Why, Why , Why She is not even perfect, but she was perfect for me :(
> be twenty something and walking around with a wound no doctor can stitch> think time is supposed to cauterize things> find out it dont> three years pass like fenceposts out the window of a night bus> still wake with her name in your mouth dry as old dust> she threw a hammer at me once> then pulled me into bed like she could fuck the violence clean out of the world> and i let her> because a man will crawl through broken glass toward the thing that once made him feel chosen> folks say she wasnt perfect> no shit> the world aint populated by saints> but there are people whose ruin fits into your ruin with terrible precision> like two snapped bones grown back wrong together> met other women since> kind women> women with bright eyes and good hands> women who laugh easy and look at me like salvation might still be negotiated> and i stand there hollow as a burnt church> waiting for thunder that dont come> brain says: here, this is healthy> heart says: i remember the fire> thats the curse of it> not that she was good> not even that she loved me> but that somewhere in all the screaming and bloodwarm pity and madness> she reached down into the engine room of my being and turned something over> now every face afterward feels compared against a ghost> and ghosts never age> never disappoint> never sit across from you under fluorescent lights looking ordinary and tired> memory preserves them like scripture> while you rot in real time
