draft

there are things that hurt to look at
like the sun, or a baby, or a pretty girl kissing somebody else
there are songs that we don’t listen to
because we know that they are true
and we think that we are the only people in the world they were written for
when a skinny English boy sings into your chest and his words come leaking out your eyes
you want to wrap those words up in a blanket
and put them in a shoebox
when it gets dark, you can lift the lid and look in on them fondly
i found a song and i put it on loop
i’m hoping that if i listen to it enough times it will become familiar to me
like a hospital blanket
thin and scratchy
and i’ll stop feeling it
but i know how pretty things work
and i know it never happens