February 16th, 2009

jars full

I loved her when we were little when her blood was pure. Without alcohol or cholesterol or opiates or human chorionic gonadotropin but within boundaries, hemoglobin kept inside virgin skin not dribbling on gauze or spilt out like milk in the kitchen. However I still love her now long after the dissolution of said purity. This is how I know that this love isn’t about blood at all although nobody would understand it. You look like me in the mirror but rounder/thinner/older/younger. One in a zillion or whatever. You I could have been me you.