Fragile

i.
i wrote this for you.
i wanted you to know
that i am always
(changing)
the same

ii.
i burned my mouth on my coffee
and remembered the scorch of your lips
burning, stinging, lingering.

and i finally lost those ten pounds
that you told me i didn't need to lose
but i felt the need to be underweight

and at night, i curled my little self up in a ball
and thought of every part of me that
you could never love.

i guess a part of me always wanted
to be fragile.

iii.
you will never know how many times i saw you
in the backs of other men,
and i ran to them, calling your name
and they'd turn, confused.
they'd say, "Can I help you, miss?"
and i looked into their unfamiliar eyes
and wished with everything in me
that i could say yes.
"could you promise a certain boy
will see me again? because i seem to have
disappeared."

and I'd walk away disappointed
because that was the day I'd decided I would tell you:
you are the sunlight
streaming through my window in the morning.

iv.
i spend hours collecting
pillows and cushions
clutching covers and blankets
for when i
                fall
                    for
                        you
again

because it's too far to fall
and my bones are far too breakable
this time

iv.
i feel more unlovely than ever
and i don't understand why you
are so unreachable

something in me dared to love you
love you effortlessly, endlessly
immutable and unalterable

i guess a part of me always wanted
to be broken