Strange Thing About Love

We had been together near three months by the time winter quieted and the songs of spring began to fill the morning air, air barely beginning to feel like the warmth you fill me with everytime you look at me with those eyes and that laugh. Making the cigarette breaks more bearable, seeing you exhale the smoke in the sunlight wishing I could be the wisps of smoke leaving your lungs because I am dying to be that close, even if you stink of stale tobacco like the ghosts of old western movies cling to your cowboy clothes as if they could raise themselves there. Usually I fall in love with people I know are going to leave, and while I know you are going to leave I also know you kiss me like a home worth coming back to.
See there is a strange thing about love, how it can make you go against your base programming. The other night I was having an intrusive thought, dreaming about picking the razor back up. And the moment I began cursing your name for being someone who would touch my skin when the moment came, wondering if you even sense the old scars now that they no longer scream my shame, I fell in love all over again. You said nothing, still dont even know that it happened as I write this poem, but just the idea of your sad eyes looking at me, questioning whether or not there was something to be done I had to erase the idea from my head, decided to picture myself in your bed instead. Where you could kiss me silly and make me forget any dark thought I've ever had. Its not a fix, but its enough to make me want to fix the worst parts of myself. Not for you but to be a better me, one worth the love and adoration I receive those nights where I get to hold you as we fall asleep. And maybe its just the rise in dopamine, or perhaps the way you act as a better serotonin  antagonist than the pills they were perscribing me, but I am so driven to do anything to be worth something to you.