This one is for you

A piece I wrote about my current boyfriend, I can't tell you if its unfinished.

I think about all the lonely shows you played before you met me. Your empty stare as you look into a crowd of bumping bodies but not have one to claim. So you find people to talk to, to smoke with, grab a drink. To fill that void of emptiness with some sort of distraction so that your heart would be at the same level of distortion as your brain. I think of all the girls you wanted to be with before me, how I bet they were all fiery red heads with the same trash personality, or they’re all in or obsessed with some s****y punk band. I think of all girls you wanted to f**k before me, and if you think that doesn't make me self conscious then there’s something wrong. I think about the fact that you probably loved someone else once too. It doesn't matter that you love me now or how amazing I am, what matters is once upon a time you loved someone that want me as much as I love you now, in this moment. What matters is you noticed another girls curl of her lips or the light in her eyes before mine. What matters is that you gave someone all of you before that someone was me. Maybe I'm jealous because I should have had you first. Or maybe I Think you’re just as scared as I am of loving someone. I think about how lonely you must have been. Not to be rude but people who aren’t lonely aren’t on tinder. But it's okay, because I was lonely once too and also on every dating app known to man, and extremely desperate might I add, and then I met you and you were something so incredibly new. If I’m being honest I fear allot of things but that type of loneliness is at the top of my list, right above my trypophobia. But I think about all the things that you probably did differently before I met you. But can I ask you something? Will you share your soul with me? Will you give me something that no one's ever had before? Will you lend me one of your hardcover textbooks that I can only read within the walls of your library? So only the information retained can be remembered, and once you leave there will be nothing tangible as a souvenir of what I once learned . All I’ll have is the vague memory of the faint pages you once exposed to me . I promise to not break the spines or mainly you heart. I won’t bend or rip the pages but I may take photocopies of a few just to remind myself I once had an undiscovered piece of you. AN untouched portion of you, a dusty vacuum sealed storage bag tucked away in your attic.