And here we are again,
trapped in between nothingness and somethingness,
under a stained comforter, sweaty and out of breath,
limbs intertwined. I circle my arms around your waist,
not wanting you to go anywhere, and you don’t complain.
Is it love? I don’t know, honestly.
I just know it’s our own.
It is not very patient or very kind
but it’s the best way possible.
Some people may never understand it,
but they don’t really need to.