arsonist's lullaby @cinquantamilapagine - Tumblr Blog

Love always turned its back on me. When I needed it, when I craved it. When, without it, it felt like I was going to die. Love turned its back on me when I was vulnerable. Love slapped me right across the face when, for once, I allowed myself to believe in it. It watched me fall apart. It slapped me so hard that I still feel the skin burning on that exact spot, many years later. It slapped me and yelled at me to grow up, to get my shit together. Because Love always wanted me composed, organised, available, open. Love always wanted me happy, smiling, capable. Love helped me build a paper caste and framed me as the capable architect. When the paper castle inevitably fell apart, Love blamed me. I became the capable destroyer of Love, of happiness, of joy, of relationships.

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I love you with a passion that is foreign to me.

The love I feel for you has strong, long arms that could reach other planets just to find you.

It is large and heavy like a mountain, and yet it runs fast like a river. It flows so smoothly, yet it is full of pebbles and rocks.

It is clear like the ocean, yet unpredictable like a clear sky storm.

It is strong, but yet so soft and delicate. Like a child, who undergoes the stress of birth and yet, once born, feels untouchable. So fragile it might break under the touch of the corrupted world it was born into.

The love I feel for you is beyond sex and lust. It crawls on the skin and sticks to the heart.

The love I feel for you knows no boundaries, no limits, no geography. The love I feel for you knows no rules, no laws, no predicaments.

The love I feel for you is so overpowering that sometimes feels like a hug and sometimes feels like a hand wrapped around my neck. Tight, firm, blocking all the oxygen, and yet keeping me alive, keeping me on my feet.

The love I feel for you is like a poison, it could heal me or kill me. And I would gladly accept both, if it meant that I could keep on loving you for eternity.

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Sometimes I wonder if you find it as strange as I do; being in the same place, but not together. Knowing that we are exactly in the same place but still refusing to make a call and say “come over, I miss you”.

Because I do, miss you.

I miss when things were easy, and came naturally.

I miss hanging out on your old couch, listening to rap music and fantasising about the next concert. And inevitably making out, and inevitably making love. Oh, if that couch could talk.

What’s funny is that I don’t even know if you still have that couch, or if it ended up in someone else’s living room, collecting someone else’s memories, or if it’s finishing it stays in a dumpster. And I know it’s just a couch, but it reminds me that I don’t know much about you anymore.

Do you still listen to rap music?

Do you still move your head to the rhythm?

Do you still take your tea the same way? Two sugars and a “splash” of milk.

Do you still leave your keys in the inside pocket of your jacket and then spend hours looking for them?

“This time I lost them for good, Lu, I’m sure” that was your line.

And I can’t help but question everything I used to know about you, because I also know that you of the past would’ve called by now. The you that I remember would’ve showed up wherever I was, unannounced but still wanted, he would’ve hugged me and said: “you won’t get rid of me that easily”. Like a promise, or the sweetest of threats.

Well, at last I think I have, haven’t I?