i have woven words out of my own skin and bones
and so i know
that when you say, ‘i don’t want to love anymore,’
you’re feeding me an elaborate lie.
you don’t want the appeal of waking up
afraid to be alive
because you’re scared that no one thinks about you first thing in the morning.
you don’t want the responsibility
of caring, of worrying what life will be like
when you’re gone - it doesn’t matter, it never matters as long as you’re gone.
you do not want to be deprived of love, because
it is the greatest thing in the world to be able to love:
to start smoking because it’ll kill you slower than you would have otherwise,
to send jars and jars of pills to someone far away instead of hoarding them in your bedside table because it is
time you started taking care of yourself
even though you know you’re not doing it for you,
to be able to bleed your guts out for your fellow man
and drag yourself to your feet to take more.
to wish you couldn’t love anymore is to wish you were more selfish
and to simultaneously want yourself gone.
when you’re not around to love anymore, there will be nothing except love for you
and everything that you were
because when there is nothing
we will still have love.