you wrote me a letter this summer,

before you left for new beginnings,

and now it’s stashed in my closet,

in a box of things that make me cry

(they used to make me blush)

in the letter you wrote:

“i need you so much it’s chemical”

because what is love if not chemical?

what is love if not a reaction in our brains, 

something that they got a taste of, 

and decided to want more of

and what is a taste if not acquired?

i wasn’t born, aching to put my teeth into something

(except maybe i was)

just like how i wasn’t born loving you,

(except maybe i was)

it was acquired, 

our years of friendship,

kindergarten and playing pretend, 

to 13 and “truth or dare”

my brain got a taste of it,

those green eyes and a tendency to make me laugh,

and decided to go back,

go back and go back again,

whether in friendship or crush

because what is love if not a habit?

and what is a habit if it cannot be be built up or broke down

in 8 to 254 days

what was loving you if not a bad habit?

and what is a bad habit if not the foundation of young love?

our shaky hands and shakier words and even shakier promises

because what is a promise if not easily broken,

and what am I if not the villain, for doing just that?

because loving you was an acquired taste, 

you grew on me like weeds or stubborn flowers,

took root and stuck to my bones

and what am i if not heartbroken?

by the habit i never really quit

(173 days left to go)

and what are you if not someone i once loved,

(still do love, in some strange, habitual way)

i need you so much it’s chemical,

but you’re a stranger now.

what is a stranger,

what even is chemical?

if not a warning ignored.