You leave not-so-gentle kisses on my skin, burning my skin with this anxiety. It’s better to leave a mark, just like a burn, so you’re never forgotten. This treachery tastes sweet like honey, though it’s a bit sour from the heat. It irritates me like being brushed the wrong way; soft strokes of a bullet leaving red traces that we can never escape. This is a bruise that will never fade because it cuts me up inside to see you walk away. Can I take this as a not-so-sweet goodbye? I can’t sit still when your back is saying we would all wake from this nightmare with a bittersweet kiss to those frowning lips, but I’m always the one dropping “I’m sorry”s as if I had to much to carry. I want to see you smile for once and wash me away with that sugary nostalgia. Take me with you. But these burns are your way of saying “it’s about time to walk away” or is it to apologize for making another promise neither of us expected you to keep.
It’s short and sweet just like every lie that made me smile.
Rikki [not romance]