love isn’t real

the only good thing about love or like for me is almost always the jealousy and the anger and the absolute fury. the envy. all the bad things about love or like are my favorite. I prefer what I can’t have because it’s easier to romanticize a loss than understand a gain. I know some things stay unrequited forever and I’d prefer to be okay with that than know for sure, than to face the fiery flames of the hell that is rejection. I’ll wait it out.

if love was real it’d be small things. when I wear a shirt that shows more skin on my arms. the way my back looks in a thin tank top, watch the shoulder blades flex like an angel flapping wings. look at the way my hair curls against my forehead when I sweat, no matter how much I smooth it down. watch my eyes when I look at other people. feel a bit burn into your stomach watching my eyes while I listen. simmer with fury and pain when I wrap my arms around someone else, just to warm them up. it’s only who’s unavailable that I cling to, and you hate that because you just want to close the gap. 

if love was real you’d forget what you were saying because of my words. you’d sink to your knees in your private little bedroom and press your forehead against the slick tile of the shower playing them over and over and over again. you wouldn’t be able to ignore it. 

if love was real it’d be a mind game, power play. your mind would jump to conclusions. your heart would hammer in your chest when my words twisted in your head, making connotations. just a little smile and offhand comment of mine would fuel your day. 

if love was real you’d wait for hours and never feel entitled to press close, to touch. you’d be terrified. I’d sidle up next to you and then you’d know it was okay. press our knees together. that’s a bomb going off for you. 

if love was real we wouldn’t be in the pool and then in your bedroom and your hands wouldn’t force my bathing suit up just to see. if love was real you wouldn’t want to see anything. we’d go to a movie and we’d joke about it, mimic the characters on the way out. you’d want to sit on a step with me and talk forever but you’d be too scared to ask. 

it’s my voice and mind that keeps you up. I am unlike anyone you’ve ever met. 

if love was real it’d be much harder for you than it is for me. it should be.