Love.
Love is the taste of your lips. The smell of your odor. The sound of your words. The touch of your hands.
Your hands - Holding me down. Pinned to the floor with bruises up my arms. How did we get here?
Your words - Sly words of hatred from the one you love followed by guilt and apologies and ‘You made me like this’ ‘this is what you did…or didn’t do’ ‘you cunt’ ringing in my ears.
Your odor - The beads of sweat running down your neck from chasing me around and around and, me, just making you a little too aggravated.
Your lips - Scrunched together like a prune being run over by a car going 90 miles an hour down a quiet country road.
I am that country road - That road you can drive with the windows down, cool breeze in your hair, that sweet smell of worry free. That road you take when you’re in no hurry and have no where else you need to be.
I am not the road for speeding down, hitting every pot hole you see just to find your best friend laying in the middle of the road being rushed to the hospital because you let the anger take control of you, you didn\'t pay attention and ran my heart into the ground and ruined that once unscathed, innocent country road.
On that quiet country road our love was put to rest.
On that quiet country road I came so close to death.