Poison

Written by me in 2022.

 

I once read:

If love were poison,

we'd drink it anyways.

I'd be dead by now.

I've drank it enough times to know I love love.

 

Enough to know that dating is bullshit.

Honestly?

Just get me to the start of the ending:

A wedding, a promise, a forever.

I hate that I crave it and all of its friends--companionship, making love, giving all of me, calling someone mine, touch, touch, touch, kisses, holding hands, sweet whispers, makeout sessions, friendship, waking up in the middle of the night with your person, cuddling, doting on someone.

Oh, I'm ALL in.

I don't want any cheap imitations of it.

I've had those too.

But I miss it.

And, yes, its friends. 

I was born to love, it seems.

And love was born to elude me.

 

So I wake up each day and choose to be in love with everything.

 

I choose to at minimum, love me.

 

Because, as odd as it may sound, if you wouldn't marry yourself, you won't love anyone else right.

Self-love.

Love you.

Then, the rest can indulge in something so sweet that they didn't even know love like that was real.

Would I date me? 

Dude. I’d be outside my house with a boombox in the rain. 

I know my worth. 

So why won’t anyone just stay or come back?