All's fair in love and war
It’s not fair.
What’s not fair?
It’s like I wasn’t even there.
You know what I mean.
It’s just not fair.
Seeming like you were never a part of my life…It isn’t a bad thing.
Some people seemed a part of my life. And now look at my heart. Scars.
I would never hurt you.
I’d never scar your heart.
That’s what the people who scarred my heart told me.
Well, I’m telling you now. And I haven’t. And I didn’t.
No, you didn’t. But you didn’t have that chance.
That’s not fair.
No, it isn’t.
And it’s not fair that the people who hurt you are marked on your heart—that their part in your life shows right through your chest.
Do you want to scar me then? Carve your initials into my beating pulse like a boy and his tree? Something that says you were here too? Would that make you feel better?
I don’t want to say I was there.
What do you want then?
I want to be there. I want my hands on you, playing my fingers along the bones of your ribs like xylophone keys
I know. I can’t touch you.
Instead you haunt me.
Like a ghost?
Like a ghost.
Do you miss me?
Do you want me to? Would that make you feel better?