the thing about quiet love
I think about you, I think about us calling in sick to work to lie in bed all day tracing patterns down our arms. I think about the apples.
And I think about you pushing me away, shutting me out, making sure I had no way to reach you. You locked yourself away and swallowed the key whole.
I think about whether all the love was worth all the hurt, and all the loneliness.
Someone once said unrequited love can be survived in a way once-requited love cannot. And I agree.
Nothing else quite compares, now that I've tasted the sickly sweet nectar of your overpowering affection.
Nothing else quite matters, now that you've hidden yourself away in one of your many planets, far far away from me.
And so, my days are filled with shoddy attempts to patch up the life-sized space you left inside of me, with other people, other pills and other places.
That's the thing about quiet love. The deafening, thundering sound of it unravels the threads of my sanity.
Yours truly, and yours until death arrives, a rogue Black Knight on her fiery mare, dripping warrior's sweat and blood,
A.
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