If the day comes.
              




                 If the day comes. button poetry stories
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nicoorpocc
nicoorpocc Community member
Autoplay OFF   •   a year ago
Here's to hoping that the day comes...

If the day comes.

If the day comes where you ask me why I still write about you,

I will explain to you that poetry is my way of coping,

and I have already shed 16,787 tears trying to figure out how to let you go.

I will explain to you that loving you is the equivalent of you slamming your fist into my chest

and then silently begging you to punch me again.

If the day comes where you ask me if I am still in love with you,

I will probably want to scream at you,

because Are you still in love with me?

is the most unnecessary question I know of.

If I tell you that I am in love with you,

I am telling you that your name is permanently stitched into my heart's canvas

made out of a long strand of yarn.

If I tell you that I am in love with you,

you should not need to ask if that changes,

because love is just as physical as any other element:

it can not be created nor destroyed.

It can only change forms.

If the day comes where you ask me why I love you,

or how I even fell in love with you in the first place,

I will first ask why you're so curious.

Then, I will tell you that I fell in love with you the same way any writer falls in love:

in an accidental realization.

Realizing that writing about you is a lot of fun,

realizing that every love interest in every story reminds me of you,

realizing that it is really hard to run away from the thought of you.

If the day comes where I tell you I love someone else now,

I am probably lying to you.

If the day comes where I tell you that I am no longer in love with you,

I am probably lying to you.

If I am not lying to you,

I've probably discovered how to lie to myself for long periods of time

and other secrets of the universe.

If the day comes where you tell me that you love me too,

I will probably laugh. A lot.

Because I have already spent so much time trying to run away from your smile,

so much time trying to swim out of the infinite depths in your eyes

that the idea of letting myself drown all over again is unbearably tempting.

The idea of allowing you to ball up your fist

and letting you drive it into my lungs again

and again

and again

is unbearably tempting.

If the day comes where you tell me that you do not love me,

I will not be sad. (That's a lie)

I will not cry. (That's a lie)

I will not hate you. (That's not a lie)

I will be relieved

that I finally have a real reason to let you go.

I will be relieved

that I finally have a real reason to push myself up to the surface of your irises

and let gravity take me away.

If none of these days ever come,

then I will know that I did something wrong.

I will know that my words were not good enough

to make you curious about why I wrote them

or to make you angry because I need to stop since you don't love me back

or to make you feel loved enough to tell me I've done a good job.

If none of these days ever come,

then I'll just keep running.

I promise you if nothing else,

that I won't let myself drown.

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