Loving You Felt Like Christmas In July
Loving you was the bravest thing I ever did.
Loving you was the bravest thing I ever did.
I know you didn’t leave by choice. Neither of us expected me to miss you this goddamn much.
We live in a society that, as it has been made even more evident across the United States this week, desperately clings to this ideology that a woman’s primary purpose is to be a mother.
If it did, I would write you and tell you about all of the miracles that found a way to light up the darkness that came with your absence.
Time continues to pass, and the seasons continue to fade. I guess I just never thought our friendship would.
So hold me hostage
somewhere
that makes me appreciate my own pulse.
The least you could do is pretend to be afraid and run like the rest of them did.
Surprise them with a gift.
You sound like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Gimme, gimme, gimme! I am not your mother.
You light up the room every damn time, but at what cost?