Hip-Bones

We start looking for reasons to hate each other.

It's the only way we know how to cope with the growing dependence we have.

You had your arms wrapped around my hips, tracing the bones, and I don't tell you it makes me uncomfortable.

I don't tell you, because if I did, the illusion is shattered.

I don't remember how I felt before you started caring, in the same way when you're sick, you don't recall the lightweight on your chest.

We were walking down aisles in my mind before you even knew my name.

But now, we start looking for reasons to hate each other, because when you let go of my bones, your grip looser, then it was, I feel uneasy.

I don't like the way you say my name, even when you were the only one I let say it.

Maybe I do this every time, hold tightly a person I don't know, and let go when they know me and stay anyway.

No one tells you how inept you are at love when no one's ever given it to you first.

No one says that tracing hip bones becomes suffocating, if done by someone who isn't you.