i have writer’s block and i’m in my feelings. exhibit a:

I’m not going to start writing you dumb poetry about how your eyes glitter in the dark.

That would be absurd.

But I’ll tell you the truth. I’ve never been in love before and I don’t plan on falling now. It takes a lot of self control to be this way.

I’ve read enough romance novels to know that breakups are the cause of vomit, nausea, and a feeling of dread that doesn’t go away with a hangover cure. I’ve cried along with protagonists and felt sick to my stomach from inked out goodbyes. In my books, the couples always end up back together for the sake of the author’s profit. In real life, I’ll spare myself the pain.

Don’t give me that face. I like you. It’s true. You can revel in that feeling and let your ego shine a little.

Love is such a heavy word, and I know some girls who sit on it like a throne. I just know I’d end up under it, pressed between the ground and its weight, lead in my stomach. Tears choked in my throat.

God, I’m going to hate it when you fall for someone else. I imagine I’ll spend a few weeks in my head, cursing my stubbornness and wishing my cold blood could warm. If I drowned in you and you fell another way, I could never recover. And so I inch myself back from the edge of the bridge.

I miss the feeling, if you catch my drift. I miss the touching and the whispering and the sense that one knows another better than their own mind. I was so in tune with your heartbeat I forgot that I still had to breathe. And so it goes. I’ve got to live.

So I can’t pen you a sonnet, though it sits and dances in the crevices of my cortex. But I want to.