Vice

Ache for someone who chose the wrong relief

I took my medication this morning

and thought of you,

not because of the capsule,

but because of the word need.

You have always needed things

with your whole body.

Relief.

Rush.

I think that is what undid me,

the way you lean toward feeling

like it might save you,

like it might finally be enough.

Some people move carefully.

You chase the bright edge,

the quickening,

the beautiful blur.

I have watched you

fall in love with intensity

the way others fall in love

with home.

And I wondered, quietly,

if I could ever be 

the thing you reached for first,

before the bottle, before the burn.

If I could be enough of a high

to keep your hands steady.

If you could crave me

the way you crave

whatever makes the noise stop

for a while.

It is a tender kind of heartbreak,

wanting to be someone's favorite vice

to imagine yourself

stronger than the craving.

I would have let you hold me

like relief.

I would have tried

to be the softer addiction.

Instead, I stand here

with this steady love,

watching you choose

what hurts you faster.

And still,

when I think of you,

some part of me whispers

maybe one day.