little letters on it

this is what we’re supposed to do:
we’re supposed to sit on your bed.
in singlets and underwear.
and you’re supposed to have a guitar in your arms.
you’re supposed to understand when i burst into laughter.
you’re supposed to let your hair flow over the fucking ugly coat i own.
and you’re supposed to look away awkwardly when you tell me you wear it because it makes you feel comfortable when you’re alone.
you’re supposed to read all these blogs.
and not mind that so many are about you.
you’re supposed to write duets for us to sing.
even thought we’re not ‘in love’.
i’m supposed to cry.
and you’re supposed to cuddle me when i do it.
you’re supposed to talk.
and i’m supposed to listen.
i’m supposed to talk.
and you’re supposed to listen.
i’m supposed to not make you angry with the dumb things i say.
and the incorrect opinions i have.
i’m supposed to be your friend.
you’re supposed to be mine.
and i’m supposed to love you.
and you are supposed to love me.
and we are supposed to take that love that we give to each other.

because we are supposed to give it to others.

so that others are supposed to feel it too.
because that’s what love is.
it isn’t the getting. it’s the giving.
there is a type of love…
that you give
and you give it without worrying that the other will fuck it up.
or that they won’t care you’re giving it to them.
you don’t worry that it might hurt.
or that you may look stupid and weak.
you give it… with the hope that it will somehow make that person happy.
so happy… that they learn how to give that love to another.
no matter what type of fucking love it is.
friends. boyfriends. girlfriends. mums. dads. sisters. brothers. aunties.
if you get it… you give it.
that’s the rule.
that’s what you taught me.
and that’s what i’ll give.
because we are all supposed to know it.
we’re all supposed to feel it.


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