He’ll hug me and tell me that I’m the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. He won’t use the word “beautiful” because that’s the word he uses to describe her.
I’ll hug him back and tell him that I’ve never been in the arms of a man with such steady hands cause yours were always trembling, but it’s the tremble that reminded us we were real.
He’ll kiss me, hoping that my taste will be stronger than hers. He’s secretly be hoping I’ll be the rain that washes her away.
I’ll hold his hand so tight that he’ll ask me if I’m alright. I’ll lie and tell I’m great, but squeeze even tighter cause maybe if I squeeze tight enough, his bones will start to look like yours.
I know that you’re not suppose to use other people as medicine to get over somebody else, but he’s just as hurt as I am and we’ll keep telling ourselves this is love.
He’ll fall asleep before I do without saying goodnight, and I’ll toss and turn in bed with your fucking voice echoing in my mind. I’ll call him and apologize for waking him up but he’ll admit he woke up an hour before I called. He won’t tell me why but I know it’s because she was haunting him in his dreams.
I know I’m not the first thing on his mind because he doesn’t text me until three hours after he’s woken up.
He’ll know he’s hardly on my mind because we’ll pass by each other in the store and not wave hello.
When I see you in public, I’ll start to tremble and he’ll kiss me at the exact moment you see us cause he wants you to believe I don’t give a flying fuck about you.
When she turns the corner and stops in her tracks, shocked by the image of me sitting on his lap, laughing, giving him small kiss, I’ll make the kiss even deeper because I want her to hurt the way he hurts.
We do this because we both know that this pain is unbearable and they both deserve the hell that comes their way and we know it’s working because if they honestly didn’t have any feelings left, they wouldn’t still be staring when the kiss is finished with.
This is not love. This is not lust. This is using each others eyes as wishing bones.
He’ll make me laugh and for a second it’ll feel like the universe doesn’t hate me but then he’ll say my name and I’ll hear your voice.
I’ll make him laugh and for a second it’ll feel like the universe doesn’t hate him but then I’ll look him in the eyes and he’ll only see her.
And I hate using other people as drugs, but the nicotine isn’t strong enough to smoke you out of my system. He, without actually saying it, promises to bounce you out of my bones as long as I fuck her out of his brain.
This is survival of the fittest and if you can’t stand the thought of me with him then maybe you shouldn’t have left in the first place.
Don’t you dare work up the nerve to text me and tell me, “I saw you two together and he doesn’t match your type.” Like, why the fuck do you still have my number if you’re the one who said I should try this whole “moving on shit”?
And if you really wanna know why we bother with each other, maybe it’s because we are sick and tired of trying to love the person who keeps setting houses on fire. Maybe, for once, we just wanna be with someone who knows what it’s like to be in one of the burning houses.