“The risks that rip us open,
we leave ourselves too open.
we love too much.”
So she said, to a room, to no one in particular.
She screams love like…like nothing can come of it.
A bottomless pit of something to forget.
“The vacancy is permanent.”
So she said, in her head, to no one paying mind.
She says love like she’s…like maybe it’s over already.
Before it even started.
“Do you have what it takes, a collection of all the things I need?”
So she whispered, loud enough…and I heard her.
She says love like she’s spitting it out.