Here’s the thing, I’m not innocent.
My heart is not virginal, not pure.
My skin grew from a vine and one person plucked it and passed it down to the next
and their palms wear the stains
of something they eventually didn’t want.
Here’s the thing, you aren’t the first.
Here’s the thing, you might not be the last.
Here’s the thing, stars are beautiful but they still explode.
Lakes are stunning but they still dry out.
Flowers are breathtaking but they still die.
A lifetime can mean so much and will still end.
Here’s the thing, I know you’ve stained others, too.
Here’s the thing, I know your lips hold memories I’ll never know.
You have ghosts and I have ghosts
but so does the universe
and it doesn’t change it’s beauty.
You are made up of time that I’ll never be apart of, and I’m okay with that.
Here’s the thing, I’m willing to try if you are.