And so I said “What am I to you? Do you need to think this through?” I’m impatient, and you know me. I’ll be your sun and moon. I’ll be the smile when you enter the room from a long hard day at what you do. When everything we said was nothing that we did, but everything we meant to, we’re through. When it’s over, the heart stops beating. But it isn’t over. You’re really never considered a friend until you roll me over and I stop breathing, and you take back everything that you said. To you, I’m in your bones. I have your back if you’re ever alone. With a knife stuck in it, this blood’s for you. To me, this is love. The only kind that can hang on a rope from above on your ceiling. I want to take back everything we did and everything we meant to do until it hurts you. Or we could just pretend for one second that we’re still friends. Does that even phase you? Does it hurt you? With this mess that you’ve gotten your self into, there’s only room for two. You could close up the tube that leads into my lungs. That could clean up this mess for you. If I stopped breathing and you start feeling, would you be there? Would you understand? Would you see me when I am healing? From this ceiling I could corrupt your plan. It feels so comfortable. Your rope around my throat. From this angle you look so beautiful. Tie the perfect knot. Make it fit just like a glove. To me, this is love.