An Unconventional Ode
I remember the first time you cracked a hole in your heart (and though it was very dark outside) there was a generous amount of light that flickered from beneath your breastbone.
Everything began to smell like you and
suddenly the world seemed smaller and more comfortable, and for once I thought
I could live with myself (so long as I had at least your scent as my own).
I remember when you wrote me a poem about holding my hand (I still have that poem) and I remember the first time you actually held my hand (my hand doesn't feel like a hand anymore when you're not holding it).
There were too many moments when I
wanted you to bleed, just so that I could reassure myself that you were human,
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