He laid the postcards out – 

a roadmap of our love story:
how they stopped in one place, 

though his journey did not.
I could almost pinpoint the 

exact moment his feelings for 

her took over. 




The word runs through my head as we touch – kiss – succumb to one another. 

You call me sexy and tell me all the things you like about my body – my tongue. 

But am I kind? Beautiful? Do you enjoy having conversations with me or just what I can do without words?


“I’m always going to love you,” she sighed. 

And that’s what makes us bleed – 

knowing we can carry people 

in our hearts but not 

always in our



Because in the end, it was always suppose to be like this. No amount of begging or pleading could’ve changed it. Love is pain – but if you didn’t try, you’d never know, and more often than not, regret cuts deeper than any broken heart ever could.