The first 2 like a rapid inhale,
As if I was a drug he had accidentally tried,
And fallen into a deep addiction to.
He loved me those days,
calling me at every free moment.
Caring for my wounds
that he had not caused.
I was the obsession eating through his brain.
And I had been starved,
so I kept eating.
By the end of week 2,
he had seen me cry.
It broke something in him.
He spent week 3 sleeping,
constant,
10 hours a day.
While, I, who had gorged on his obsession.
Sat satiated,
watching. Waiting.
When he woke he thought he could love me again.
But those tears
and the obsession.
He was afraid to inhale again.
So he held his breath.
Hoping he could hold me still.
But I either fill your lungs,
or dissipate into nothing.
He let me go,
smoke into air.
And now I grow thin again,
with nothing to feed me.
No ability to have a love that satisfies.
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