From Seven Ways to Break a Heart | James Avery Fuchs

I didn’t know love could taste like teardrops falling.
I didn’t know I could feel this kind of alive.
I only knew romance as a plot in a story;
cardboard pages, flimsy as goodbyes.

I didn’t know the ups and the downs:
the rewinds, redrawn parallels, the rebounds.
I didn’t know bleeding out felt just as invigorating
as the first blush of sun in the morning, waiting.

You taught me a whole new melody,
a red-lined, redacted symphony;
more than a chorus, less than a cacophony
early morning mid-range rhapsody.

And yeah, maybe I’ve forgotten the songs I used to sing,
but misery makes for terrible harmony.
I’ve spent the last four years trying to forget my memories,
and even if I break, at least I’ll feel what I bring.

The match burning beneath my skin,
filling me up with fire, every breath a thrumming sin,
tells me there’s more to this play we perform in;
a drum beating down my spine, 4/4 time in rewind.

Allegretto to prestissimo,
my heart races until I crumble.
I’ve forgotten my name. All of life has been so tame
until you tumbled my fortress into a stream.

All past-tense assumptions fade.
I never knew it could be this way.
In a life spent between 0 and 10,
This is what a thousand tastes like.

Exhilarating, heart-breaking;
so much intensity I’m afraid of breathing:
If this is just chemicals in the brain,
it’s a high I never want to go away.

Crash and burn; hit the ground:
seven steps from here to heartbreak.
Nerve endings jagged, breathing ragged,
I remember the way you taste.

You’re the song I adore, and I’m panting for more.
These highs and lows won’t quit.
I’ve spent the last 12 days recalling the ways
your touch could make my breath hitch

And when the beat drops and the rollercoaster stops,
I’ll be lining up to ride again.
You’re the music in my brain I can’t quite place,
and I’m addicted to your sin.