It's no secret that I keep your wings hidden

under my bed.

I took our lies and shut them away.

Not forgiving you completely,

but always just letting you back in.

Our entwined fingers were enough for me to get by with.

I sold our fights, for silver and gold

just to make the sleepless nights better.

Because when I reach over to the side of the bed

that was never really yours, it is bitter.

My tattoos filled with your promises won't come off no matter how hard

I rub, or scratch.

It seems you have implanted yourself in my skin,

You were always stubborn, I remember.

You took the word love and twisted it and turned it,

until it was just a syllable and it meant nothing compared to

the words that sang through our bodies.

I cut my dreams and left the day,

To just sit wrapped in your arms for an hour.

And I loved you,

I loved you because you were rare.

Because in the end,

it was not you who pulled away,

it was not me who pulled away.

I was falling and the feeling of the singing in my bones,

made them want to break.

In the end it was you who cut off your wings,

so I could have them.

And when I look back to the sacrifices that we made,

and the things that I bought with the silver and gold.

It is nothing compared

to you.

It is no secret that my memories sneak out of my eyes

and roll down my cheeks

when I look at your wings

under my bed.

If love was something not based on blood,

would you love me?

If respect was not earned by simply being older,

would you love me?

If I told you I could see right through you,

would you love me?

If I left the moment I could, to be better,

would you love me?

If you knew the times I recognized your immaturity,

would you love me?

If I acted responsible and shouldered a burden as if I was equal to you,

would you love me?

If I told you I didn't respect you anymore,

would you love me?

If I was right and you were wrong,

would you love me?

You told me to write and so I did,

do you love me?

Does it make you scared that I have to ask?

It should.