Love:
Even if you tasted like stale cigarettes and warm beer, I still wanted to kiss you deeply.
Hurt:
An unfinished conversation with you kicking the chair as you storm out.
Loneliness:
A cigarette finished in less than 7 minutes without anyone to talk to distract me.
Left arrow:
A dangerous song on loop from that night you first screamed my name across the bridge.
I could unravel at your slightest touch. Please give me a word for that kind of infliction.
