The boys we try to take home make us feel like high school all over again, like empty hallways and strawberry milk.
Everyone is so sad and lonely on the internet. Everyone is so sorry but they won’t send you flowers.
If men were house plants, I would forget to water them. I would never open the blinds.
I’m either falling in love or running away from it,
fire constant in my brain, staying even after I am left.
I do not stand in love, but outside of it, in its shadow, looking inward, reaching, always reaching.