PROMPT: Your first line is:
I won’t be able to write from the grave / so let me tell you what I love….
I won’t be able to write from the grave / so let me tell you what I love:
I love that I see the world through heartbreak colored glasses.
Even my joy is laced with angst— a tiny razor in a candied apple.
I only know it’s really love if it leaves a little blood on the lip,
a little gasp at the vulnerability and impulsivity of my own hunger.
I love a good steak, medium rare, a filthy dirty martini,
and god knows I love me some melancholy.
Songs that make me cry feel hopeful because everything ends eventually,
and so will the song.
A good bruised ego has been responsible for some of my most astonishing transformations, so I love love love the truth— even when it comes in hot.
Something about the blazing heat cauterizes the wounds in the soul.
I’m a skinned knees and stubbed toes kind of girl because the ride is the ride,
and I got the scars to prove it.
I love knowing the difference between being understood and being loved,
and I love letting go of one and learning to open up to the other.
And believe it or not, I even love the god who kicks out the crutches
from under me just enough times that the broken in my core
is now wholly unbreakable.
Even when it’s in pieces.
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Knife-edge sharp, poignant, lovely.
😭🌟 Yessss girl