Your love was like a candle lit for romantic excuses,
just there to pretend that we were having exquisite talk over dinner and wine.
You said It was easier pushing my head lower than asking me how I felt about you, or kissing you here, and there, than telling me how you felt about me.
It was easier to say "fuck me" than saying those three words designed to comfort two lovers and assure themselves that they still have each other to hold on to.
Lovers.
I hate that word.
Because for even once we never defined ourselves as one.
We were, for sure, in the eyes of everyone unknowing of the confusion and the storm raging beneath the surface.
It was easier to tell people we were the star crossed lovers you read about in books than to say we were just strangers who often have discussions in bed, naked, and exhausted, and go out as yet again, strangers tied together by strings pulling on each other.
Love.
A confused four letter word dancing back and forth but never really knowing when to stop as long as the song plays.
Lust.
An angry four letter word dancing back and forth but it never really relies on the song, it is the player. It is the one that makes love dance, our love.
Here we go again as we dance in a dimly lit room in an attempt to connect the words that are left unsaid and hands that long for another like magnets unstoppable in its quest to find its opposite charge.
If only this was easy as counting to three and trying to hold your breath,
I would have held until the last bit of air gets trapped in between my throat and lungs,
But no, this is not the love that I asked for,
This is not a story made out words that will make your heart flutter.
This is a song made out of smooth jazz and intertwined legs,
Of chaos between two bodies wrapped in sheets of sweat and cloth lying on the floor.
If this is what you call love,
I call bullshit.
-yv
art: Alicia Rihko "Lovers"
Nice article 👌