Kirjahaku

I'm obsessed with her. I watch her. I follow her. To see her lips move when she talks on the phone. To see her take down her hair while no one else is watching. I want to taste her. Down to her marrow. Write her onto every cell. Change the paths of every synapse. Inhale her. Convert oxygen into an undiscovered state of matter. But I'd consume her. And I could never. Would never tell her.

He left because he said I was too good. Whatever that means. So I tried to move on. I did move on. Mostly. But moving on tends to put you right back where you last left your heart, like some sort of sadistic serendipity. You can't live without your heart. And I want it back. After I show him who he really left. After I show him all the things I'd wanted. After he knows what it feels like to lose it. He might want to run.