there is nothing clean about this love, and maybe that's the attraction. spirals of sheets and piles of clothes on the floor that look like a cluster of small islands. flesh against flesh. our minds in the backseat while our hearts revert to our primitive nature.
however, there are those moments of clarity, when you notice how you may have seen him in a couple of your dreams and how he looks so similar to your future husband. you could've swore you saw his eyes in the glint of sunlight that passes through your window on quiet summer days.
you would see your entire world in front of you, but maybe your heart's mistaken. you're never too sure, because a moment never lasts long enough. before you know it, helios is peeking through the curtains, last night's lover is long gone, and that patchwork heart of yours --the one you tried so vigorously to knit with a string of the men and squares of sheets-- ran with him.
the room still lingers with his scent, but the bed is an ice bath once again. you'll clutch your chest because its empty once again. patchwork hearts were not meant to keep you warm, you knew that, but you wear them on your sleeve anyway.
a/n: ok damn. i wrote this like two? three years ago? i decided to revive this account. i'm a senior now. i am somehow completely different from this person but exactly the same. raise your glasses to my revival.
