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You weren’t in love with me. And I wish I knew it then.
No…I wish I didn’t deny it then.
You always listed my traits like some kind of pros and cons list,
Like you had to convince yourself the reasons to stay.
You loved me conditionally;
When you wanted it, when you felt like it.
You loved me as if it were synonymous to doing the laundry;
Wear me and use me and only awash me with love when you felt that I was too dirty from sitting on your bedroom floor.
I was a chore to you.

But you were my afternoon nap, the candy that I had the sweetest tooth for.
You were my comforter and the pillow I laid my weary head.
You were my home.
You have to understand that I didn’t, wouldn’t, couldn’t evict you.
You were my home,
But I had to leave.
I had to leave because I was not your home.
I was your apartment, and I was temporarily for rent.

a.h. “Evicted” (via ahbleedingheart)
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i wanna be one of those people who does yoga at sunrise and drinks water out of mason jars filled with berries and twigs and shit

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