Love is a funny thing. I’d find myself waking up on Tuesday mornings with a smile creeping on my lips and the taste of you on my tongue. Rain would beat down on my windows and remind of the weeks we spent by the sea, salt water splashing up and landing on my skin like an eternal spring shower. Love is a funny thing because holding your hand made me forget of the days you used those same fingers to count my mistakes, the times you pointed those remarkable fingers of yours and shouted every regret I made you commit. Who do you think you are, touching every nerve on my body and sparking me like a flame, and then call me a forest fire? One day I’ll look back at you like a winding road, and I’ll get into my car and drive the opposite way. You’re just a stupid name etched onto a rock that I swallowed. Watch how fast I choke. Watch how fast I spit you out.