Wednesday, February 25, 2015

Compose and Compare

How does one not compare a new lover to what came before?
How, when he runs his fingers through my hair and kisses my forehead, do I not think about how you used to?
And at that, how do I not compare the softness of it, or the speed of the heartbeats?
When he intertwines his legs with mine, all I feel is the difference, not the butterflies in my stomach.
And when we make love, how do I not notice that we aren't?
Because I realize he doesn't love me, and I notice the fear in his eyes of me, and the way he doesn't look at me like you.

How can I move on when every step of the way I am intrinsically drawn to something I remember but can't feel anymore?
The second I let someone in, and think everything is fine, that little demon Cupid shoots an arrow of memories and floods my brain with inconsistencies and what isn't right.
And maybe it can't be right.
And maybe we aren't.
And I think maybe I need to learn to feel left, instead.
But then I remind myself, I know what it's like to feel


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