Black cats are love poems.

Darling, this is my love poem to you.

Sew my lips shut, rip my heart out.

"You don't know what love is, you're just a teenager."

Lie.

"You can only be in love with one person at a time."

Lie.

"If you love him, you'll never let him go."

Lie.

You knew nothing. You know everything. And I fell, hard. I learned through lies and regret and hate. I learned the difficult way. I found it within the burnt rubble and ashes -- all that was left of the wall surrounding my heart.

After learning to let go, to finally escape the tragedy and the heartache that is inevitable, I rebuilt the walls. I made sure they were brick and solid and protecting. I was positive I'd never fall again. I was sure they were perfect this time, with no cracks, no weaknesses. Not after last time. The walls were finished, and I was fine. I was perfectly fine.

Until him. I hardly know him, yet I can't stop thinking about him and what I do know. He is devastatingly beautiful, and I can't get my mind to spit him out, to make me hate him. 

He found the weakness in my wall, the last brick I never managed to fit properly. After slowly making his way in, he broke me from the inside out. So I fall. 

And I can't stop.