Paper Cups and Paper Cuts
Love sits in folding chairs, packed trains, and idle thoughts waiting for a break in conversation
Love sneaks a poem into your pocket that is destined to become a hard pearl of dryer lint;
Love undercooks your steak and demands your praises.
Everything bleeds out;
Love paces, wandering the cracks in the hardwood floor questioning the integrity of its foundation;
Love tears a hole in your screen letting moths and birds and debris in.
Love refused to filter.
Everything bleeds in;
Love keeps you awake at night with worry. Love doesn’t care what you expect. Love waits in the dark, a hard pearl of dryer lint;
Love scribbles in your margins.
Love crosses out your keywords.
Love sends you to the printer and lets the best part fall past the bleed;
Love leaves you no options. Love doesn’t come with insurance. Love doesn’t carry a first aid kit;
Love waits for you in paper cups and paper cuts;
Love sits in the library and reads you, skipping all the dialog.
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