365 Days

January is Lonely; he is never quite there until he leaves.
He is hanging in limbo over your head and begging you not to let him fall.
He is tying ropes to your fingers and waiting for you to move, to drop him into you.
He is never quite there until he leaves, until he cuts your fingers off and slips down your walls.

February is Longing; he is dipping himself into open fire and waiting for your eyes to light up.
He is spitting stardust down your throat and telling you love tastes like sores and stomach acid.
He wraps chains around your ankles and drags you after him, waiting for you to run at him.
You never do.

March is Angry; he bruises you while trying to love you.
He doesn’t know much about self love and he takes that out on you.
He turns you into a stringed-puppet, and makes you run for him; drags you around to take his falls.
He doesn’t leave until you are skin and bones.
He doesn’t leave until he takes too much for you to ever feel whole again.

April is Shy; he smiles from across the room and never meets your eye.
Sometimes you see him in improbable places, hiding in someone else’s eyes.
He is soft and timid and he loves you this way.
He is making space in his own skin for you, but you leave before you have the chance to love him back.
He hangs around like a ghost now.

May is Seduction; she is dancing around you in a little black dress and daring you to touch her. You almost do. She is rose thighs and a waist that grows only thorns.
She is spring flowers threatening to turn into summer weeds.
You hold her, but she is never really yours.
She drops her leaves into your hair and convinces you that a mess is beautiful.

June is Lust; he kisses you like he’s trying to breathe right out of your lungs.
He is summer sweat and high tops, and he presses against you like trying to find a place under your skin.
He teaches you that your hands can make fire out of human bodies.
He teaches you about gunpowder blood.

July is Heartache; he tells you he loves you when he needs to hear it back.
He wants you to save him, but he’s holding your head under water and wondering why you stopped breathing.
He tastes like forest fires and the longest day of the year.
He sticks to you for months and you can’t scratch him off your skin.

August is Uncertainty; he shifts back and forth into your life like summer rain.
He is open fires and waiting for you to burn yourself trying to hold him down.
He meets you at a point in his life where he cannot love you, where he can only love himself. You understand this later.
You understand that summer flames only take and never give anything back.

September is Vanity; he turns your eyes in looking glasses that only point to him.
He stands over your head and makes you beg for him, puts you on your knees for him.
You believe you are nothing in his absence, so you drown yourself in him until you forget what it’s like to breathe in open air.

October is Greedy; he is bones that never stop breaking.
He dips his fingers into your heart and says he wants more.
You crack open your spine for him and he finds a makeshift home in the debris you left behind. You carry him around inside you and he grabs onto anything that shows him love.

November is Regret; he has his head in his hands and never stops screaming.
He carries his ghosts at the back of his throat and finds lips to spit them into.
Everything he sees is in black and white and he teaches you this way.
He teaches you that nothing ever goes forgotten.
He hides you like his biggest mistake, his only wrong turn somewhere along the way.

December is Closure; he is soft and warm and holds you when you need it.
You tell him you are going to leave eventually, and he understands, because he’s loved and lost too many times to let it break him.
You’ve cared for him and lost him until you stopped losing pieces of yourself every time he turned away.
His hands find their way around your waist, and you let him.
The next morning you pack your clothes and leave without a sound, and he let you.

– Excerpt from a book I’ll never write
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