This is not about you

Blood

It keeps you alive which makes me want to live.  Funny how that works.

Blood makes me think about life which makes me think about death.  Which makes me think about Heaven and Hell and why I can't stop thinking about Heaven and Hell.  And why I can't stop thinking about you.

Because I hate you.  I never liked your smile, or your eyes, or the smell of your hair.  I liked the idea that was you.  I liked the idea that there was someone who cared.  But your eyes say more than your words.  And your eyes don't lie.

Now, I'm not complaining.  I don't question why volcanoes erupt, or cats land on their feet, or why blood is red.  I don't question why you left.  I'm sure I'll find someone else with perfect teeth and blue eyes.  But the snooze button on my alarm clock makes me happier than you, and homeless people make me cry just like you (but for different reasons).

So here's to the homeless people who make me weak, and to my alarm clock which is the reason why I get up, not you.