January 9, 2016

Three things I made sure to know how
Way before I ever kissed you;

To make your eyes crinkle in laughter

To make your breath catch in anticipation

To leave you.

I go under only because
I hold ropes in my hands
That lead back to the surface

And I’m not a black widow
You must know this
I’ll especially never trap you

When I leave, and leave I will
I’ll take nothing of yours with me
No matter what you freely give

I’m no collector of hearts
Because I’m no giver of mine.

Journal: Oct.26.2020
Made of Sand
Not Dura, but Alaminadura

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