Do you think you know about love
He says no, but I think I felt it once alittle bit.
Like, fresh rose petals under your feet,
like marble pieces spread under your pillow -
So tell me how you know its for real
I asked.
Its always for real if it kind of hurts,
and its so soft and small and vulnerable -
like you want to walk but you know that'll crush em,
like you want to sleep but you cant cos it's all you feel.
That its so likely in the end you'll cripple yourself
in trying not to expose it, to keep it, to protect it,
and the thing itself.
Do you think you know about love he asks -
and I think to myself, I feel it for real right now.
Like I'm walking on rose petals I don't want to tear,
like I want to sleep but there are pebbles laid beneath my sheets.
and it feels all so delicate, so faint and breakable
that it's hurting me to try and hold it, to keep it, to protect it,
and the thing itself.
But I won't tell you I'm hurting and I feel how you felt,
and won't let it show that I'm soft, and I'm small and I'm vulnerable.
That it's crippling me to be hiding it, not to expose it,
to keep it, to protect it, and the thing itself...
I say no, I don't know not one thing about love.
J.
