Soon we will be strangers. No, we can never be that. Hurting someone is an act of reluctant intimacy. We will be dangerous acquaintances with a history.
People aren’t books, I’ve learned.
You can’t bookmark your favorite pieces
to return to whenever you’re feeling lonely;
when the nights get too cold and you
need something familiar to keep you warm,
you can’t reopen their spines and wear
out their pages and call that obsession love.