Every person I ever loved tells me I compliment them too much, that my tongue is an infinite unraveling spool—thread words sewing the few inches between us.
I don’t know how to tell them that love was my imaginary friend who disappeared when real people were around.
When these compliments fall out of my mouth, I am a broken faucet. Or it is the broken little girl inside the whole woman of me, “You make my heart swell it’s so happy” is the little girl saying “God I am so lucky! To hold the thing I thought I would never have. To be special outside of my own reflection!”
Every person I’ve ever loved folds bashful amidst my towering praise. You need to know how fantastical this is for me. This is me spotting a unicorn, swimming with mermaids, finding out Santa is real. This is every fable come true– even if it is a mirage in the end, some spell breaking as I write this. Anyone would be an unraveling spool to mortal magic, right? Anyone would be a cynic for a thousand years just to hold everything they never thought they’d have for a brief moment.