What is love? Love is deep brown eyes and dancing in my kitchen at midnight. It’s my knotted hair on your pillow and feeling your hot breath on my forehead. It’s eyes filled with disbelief speckled with delusion. Imaginary glass slippers and clouds. It’s red wine paired with stars. It’s words spoken through lips and tongues and spelling letters on your back. That was love.

But what is longing? Longing is frustration and inability. It’s insomnia and poems scratched onto my walls. It’s holding my own hand and forgetting why brown eyes were even unique in the first place. It’s my perpetually sad blue-eyed friend being happier than me. It’s always feeling messy and unfinished, tainted. It’s soulless breaths and stretch marks. Therapy and exits. It’s looking back at love with distain but also clinging to it.



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