폐물.jpg

I asked you, ‘Tell me about her.’ And you looked me in the eyes and replied, ‘Well, what do you want to know?’ and that’s the exact moment I knew you didn’t love her, not really. See, if you did you would’ve gone on about how her voice is now your favorite sound. That when she is next to another women their beauty doesn’t even compare to hers. How even when she steals the blankets at 3am you’re just glad she’s warm. That when she touches you, even slightly, it causes the hairs on the back of your neck to stand. How when you kiss you don’t know whose air your breathing but you know that all you want is to be there in that moment forever. That you can see yourself having three children and a dog in a beautiful house someday soon. How her eyes are pure and truthful and when you look into them all you feel is happiness. That her laugh is what you live for even though it’s loud and obnoxious. How looking at her makes all the bad seem okay. You would’ve gone on a rant about her without hesitation, like the way I do when someone asks me why I still love you.