One. If I could, I would nail these hands to the edges of stars. I would sacrifice this body to the sky, hoping to resurrect someone that’s spiteful enough to not care about you anymore.
Two. Staple me to a cross. Pierce my side with a broken promise and I will bleed all the crippled reasons why you deserve one more chance.
Three. Loving you was the last thing that I was really good at.
Four. You wanna know how I got these scars. Well, I ripped every last piece of you out of my smile.
Five, I whispered you stardust.
Six, I spoke you into sunflowers.
Seven, I dipped my hands in forever, I touched you infinity, treated you as if you were the last molecule of oxygen inside of a gas chamber; I was good to you.
Eight. You wanna know how I got these scars? Well, I swallowed my pride and then it clawed it’s way out of my mouth and Nine, I realized that I was never really your boyfriend, I was just your fucking hype-man.
Ten, I hope your next boyfriend gets small pox.
Ten, Yes I said small pox. Ten, I hate you. ten, I miss you. ten, but I still love you. ten, it’s hard for me to count when I get emotional.
Ten I heard that over 90%, 90% of human interaction is not verbal..so..
Ten, if I could, I would tie your arms to a day dream and then auction you off to my fondest memories.
To the random dude who started dating my ex girlfriend two days after we broke up (yes, I saw that shit that on facebook.) When I realized that you were in a relationship with the girl that I thought I would someday spend the rest of my life with, I walked outside. I said to myself, “There’s no way Ashton Kutcher is gonna catch me off guard.” I waited 45 minutes and then I realized, there hasn’t been a new episode of “Punk’d” in almost three years, so I guess I’m the only practical joke in this entire situation.
One: The first time I saw you and her in a picture, I wanted to take my entire arm, shove it inside of the computer and snatch the happiness right off of your face.
Two, if I ever see you in the street, I’m probably going to punch you in the throat.
Three, I apologize in advance. And I know, I know that it makes no sense to have this much anger toward a man that I have never actually met face to face, but my definition of love is being robbed in an alley 8 times in a row and hoping there’s something about today that makes all of this different. There is nothing logical about cutting off the most important parts of yourself then putting them inside hands that shake, that tremble, that crack like a hatian sidewalk.
Four, there is nothing rational about love. Love stutters when it gets nervous, love trips over its own shoelaces. Love is clumsy, and my heart refuses wear a helmet.
Five, cupid is fucking irresponsible, and I’m tired of him using me for target practice.
Six, I was told that time would heal all wounds. But what exactly do you do on days when it feels like the hands on your clock have arthritis?
Seven, she always wore her heart on her sleeve. So tell me, why the hell do you look so familiar?
Eight, I think I’ve seen you somewhere in her smile. Like I’ve heard your voice in her laughter. Like I’ve smelled your cologne on her thighs. I bet if we dusted her heart for fingerprints, we would only find yours.
Nine, you see I have this envelope, I carry it with me all the time, it’s full of all the butterflies I felt the first time she relaxed the velcro on her lips and smiled in my direction. Most of them are still alive. I can still feel their wings through the paper. I suppose these belong to you, too.”