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For all of you homesick for the sickness of love, hating yourself for thinking of your exes and wondering if healing will ever happen. It won’t. It can still be beautiful.
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When my heart is an emotional wasteland
I find you standing at the brink
Your back to your own poisonous past

We exchange a cigarette, a story or two
I tell you about him, how on restless nights
I write his name in silver grey swirls of nostalgia

You take a long drag and hand me your cigarette
We time travel through unexamined memories, expired emotion
We take our dates to the universe of pain
Nostalgia is best navigated when you’re playing tour guide

The next time, I become the girls you never said goodbye to
filling in backstories you never completed
for those Happy Endings that came with no explanations
You pick them out of the debris of your mind and you fit them onto my story
I slash the t’s and I dot the i’s with my tears until sleep blacks us both out

You try to scrub out kisses with your toothbrush
I fuel paper planes with angry emotion
And since neither one works,
We become prosthetic people in each other’s amputee lives
We play no games
Except Minesweeper
Your mistakes help blow my memories away

I think of loving relationships
I think of love-hate relationships
Darling, you and I are not as romantic as that
But lust and disgust live in the same neighborhood
And the street corner where they meet
is where you and I park.

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