I hurt you once, and it hurt me too. To be fair, the night I did , you had a threesome while flinging around an AK47, and you were bringing stuffed animals to bars. I ran off with your friend, and you told me he would hurt me, and he did. I wanted you to be wrong. 

He told you, “you dodged a bullet”, one that you certainly bear now.

All of our pain grooves into each others pain like tangled celtic knots, brooding out of us at bars. Shining out of us, in our weird little outfits, with iridescent irresolution. Some would call it homie hopping, but I think of it as sacred geometry. We all keep reeling back to one another, all of the sacred special people, reeling back with different understandings.

 You are my bodyguard and my mistress. You put up a solid fight against the machine.  I want to kidnap you and take you to Italy and pull out the irritants from your bloodstream.  I like you because you hear me and you listen and you understand. You have retained a newfound calm, and you draw things that predict the future, and write in languages before languages. Something reignited within me, watching your calm, as we tried to tie down the military tyrant hands and feet to earth. As we speculate on whether we are targeted, whose hand this operation is drawn by. You apologize to me and I to you.

You demonized me, like he did, the aforementioned and silent enemy. His girlfriend told me she loves someone else, and it made me want to cry. He demonized me, but you had more reason to.

I recognize you can fall in love with someone for what they represent. But ultimately you have to fall in love with the way someone sees you. Fall in love with what they do. What they confess. How they approach you. The small measurable actions that comprise a life. As time passes, I prefer devotion, yearning, attention, over anything else. I require steadfast assuridity and brutal kindness. I require omissions of love regularly, sometimes too regularly for the capacity of one man. 

I want you next to me but I sometimes don’t want to be seen. I want to be your medicine.

My pattern of love triangles has accelerated into 8th dimensional pyramids, which we’ve determined, are Irish. You invigorate my revolution and I don't want to hurt you. But my own nonlinear decision making feels like fate, and shocks even me. My fear and hope are the same. That we will repeat the past.