A Crushing, a Killing
The night teaches me that there is love in ruins, and I wonder if you know it too.
I swear butterflies flutter and my heart skips a beat (the damn tell-tale thing) every time (I think) you glance at me and I jump to conclusions by trying to give this feeling a name, so I call it a crush,
call it love,
call it anything that’s real
because what if it’s not?
I admit that I’ve written your name over and over - on scraps of paper, in books, even on my wrists.
I admit that all my pens are familiar with every stroke of your name in every language I know.
Tonight the sky is painted with moonlight and dotted with stars and I am missing you somehow.
