I'm starting to hear you more now when I talk.
That feeling where I can't quite rest or enjoy something.
Did you realise what you were doing? I have to think not.
Love does distort things, but did you know what love was?
I do, love lives in me, but then so do you.
We made it out you know, not without scars, but we're not unique.
Our scars run deep and are easily opened.
Our hearts are not. We love fiercely, but always on edge.
That's a love we learnt.
½ a family of love.
When I look back the good times fade, they vanish.
I'm left standing looking at you through my eyes.
But is it you I see?
Certainly, your venom lurks beneath my skin. But I know love.
She saved me with love, so don't let me hurt her.
We are both broken for different reasons, but for glimpses we appear whole.
In those glimpses I'm home, but you're not there.
At least I think you're not.
But maybe you're here now, seeping out of my ink.
I try to flee from us sometimes. On occasion I get far.
I've known real love from the kindness in strangers.
There I'm new, no habitual traps, strangled by routine.
When my foot touches down I get that relief.
A world of freedom from you, from us.
But it always starts again. That fear of being loved.
So, thank you for that, a duty to protect not known.
In solitary moments, I've got my escape,
To be with her sets me loose.
Those are the times I feel sorrow for you.
You are empty and devoid of love.
I wish I could show you love, but it's foreign between us.
Maybe on repeat it could all be different, but that's not meant to be.
The worst part is, I want to love you, but we're strangers.
Rather than hello, maybe 'thank you' is better suited.
But that'll never happen.
At least my scars feel relief with these words.
Your gift to me was this after all.