Alyse Mercereau

Is it strange for me to tell you that I don’t want you to understand?

Is it different for me not to want you to be the one who’s survived it

all?

And when I tell you how I feel, I don’t want you to have experienced it

all before.

Because I don’t want you to say how it’ll turn out; I’d rather you live

through it with me.

Is it strange that I want to be selfish for a perfectly logical reason?

Is it different for me not to want you to make this all about yourself?

And when I pour my heart out to you, I don’t want you to say, “I

know how it feels.”

Because I don’t want you to be my bra; I’d rather you be a brand new

pair of shoes.

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