love will dump those bags in your hands and say,

look what i brought for you

can i stay?

and maybe one day,

you will say no.

this time, though,

you say,

of course. i just finished dinner.

you came back.

i spent hours smiling myself silly,

filled with sweetness that made my teeth rot,

because you

came back.

and just like that,

i forgot all the pain

you caused me.

it was like a

light switch.

—the poems said you would save me

maybe you came back

because

you loved me

or

maybe you came back

because

she didn’t love you

and

maybe i should have stopped

to ask that question

before i let you

back in

again.

—in retrospect

scene:

we are at your house. it is at the beginning of you fixing things.

we are sitting on your couch.

your dad’s friend comes by.

“who’s this?” she asks.

you look at me and smile.

“this is the girl i love,” you declare to her, and place your hand on mine.

you look at me like you want me desperately to believe you. not because you’re lying, but because you just want to fix things.

later, you tell me those three words again and again and again.

until i believe you.

until i have no choice.

end scene

for a few months, everything is fine.

i don’t read as many poems,

and i write even fewer.

i push all the letters

i never got to arrange

back down my throat.

they feel wet and cold

on my tongue but i swallow

them down,

down,

down.

i am convinced

that i do not need

that part of myself

anymore,

and you do not

tell me otherwise.

i think you might be scared

of what will happen

if you do.

so is it love?

when you have to lock away

the most honest part of yourself,

is it love?

i almost thought we got it right,

that we were in the clear,

that maybe,

you had fixed things

like you said

you would.

but then,

she came back.

and just like that,

you forgot

me.

it was like a

light switch.

—the poems fucking lied

i saw it coming

before you did.

so i pushed you

out.

closed my doors

and armed my walls

with catapults.

when you said you wanted

to talk to her,

to be her friend again,

i said,

it’s her or me.

teetered on the top

of my castle.

held the chain to the

drawbridge in my hand.

i said,

this should be easy.

you said,

it’s not.

i left the drawbridge up.

—you didn’t deserve to be let back in

don’t give

your love

to someone

who is so

clearly unwilling

to return it

—the pain isn’t worth it

i allowed myself to cry for one night, and one night only. i did not mourn you like i did the first time. there wasn’t enough energy in me to go through that again. loving you had taken everything out of me. i was drained, sucked completely dry. i did not want to give you any recognition at all. i don’t think i ever wrote a poem about what happened the second time until this book. i buried it alive, swallowed it completely whole, stuffed it away on a shelf to become dusty and forgotten.