For as long as I can remember, I have been told to “stay safe”.

In staying safe, I have let more strangers into my bed than I intended.

Caution didn’t exist in the wonderment of having someone to call my home.

So the night I asked if you loved her, and you said yes, my body became a muse for all the shapes that sadness could form.

I was a walking exhibit of all the stages of heartbreak; I took your hand, and still found a way to paint the whole city in your laughter.

And her name was still your choice of joy.

I haven’t quite learned how to choose between fight or flight response.

Only how to fight for something until I am grasping at the air, and taking flight.

You told me you just don’t think you’re someone who gets to hold on to love.

I think your grip was just never secure enough.