I just want you back.
I know you will break my heart again, but I am familiar with that pain now. I have grown to love the curves of its form, and the weight of it in my chest. How occasionally it stirs to beat against my ribs in rhythm with my heart, just to remind me it is still there.
My lungs have learnt how to breath around it now.
And though sometimes it still curls me into a ball, and opens the tear ducts of my eyes, it has become an old friend.
You will break my heart, but I am okay with that. I have lived in the ruins you’ve left behind for years, and found within the rubble that somehow, I still love you.
I still love you, and I can survive you.
Why would I risk being broken by anyone else, when I know that?
Ours has always been the type of love that books are written about. And I’d take Heathcliff over something ordinary any day.