i’m obsessed with gentle love
cardamom palms on my shoulders
and a hand on top of mine
i could eat it up like turkish delight
and write about it all day long
like a little kid, crying into a pillow
some fucked-up brand of self soothing i am too proud to exhume
’cause i’m pissed off and sad
and sometimes, looking in on happy endings from the outside
makes me want to cry
tears of anger and relief
and mostly why why why
i’m obsessed with an infinite love
that stands the test of time
a love where we listen like a symphony
and never stop changing our minds
and we’re eighty years old, and still best friends
so bury us side by side
is that normal?
i don’t really know how this stuff works
so excuse me, if i trip over my words
because my love always tended
to wither in my palms
but i like the little things about you
half-minutes where i just want to believe
that we could stay like this for the rest of eternity
make dinner, and go on a walk
and watch tv
and all this bullshit would be worth it
if i had you, and you had me
and maybe we’d never be each others’ everythings
but you’d be my anchor
and the wind that blows me out to sea
you’d be my lilac spring bloom
and my rose-petal certainty
you’d be soft, and clear like the shore
and i’ll catch you if you catch me
You can interpret this to be about love, but it doesn’t have to be! I feel like we put way too much focus on romantic love, when, like, there are so many other interesting bonds to write about, so I left this piece purposefully ambiguous.
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