Linton, I can't say I stumbled upon you knowingly.
One summer night, you breezily knocked all the wind
out of my stomach, and I was sucker punched
into falling for you. I learned, the hardest way,
how to dust my scabbed knees off and keep walking,
but I found my Heathcliff to kiss away the bruises.
I told the world I loved you because you completed me;
woke up piecing your face next to mine in the mirror,
but baby, he isn't a soulmate, he's a kindred spirit,
and I am beautifully and fully myself with him,
which I know is something that eludes your stubborn nature.
In a way, your pigheadedness is your most tragic feature,
because your tenacity is what makes you tenuous.
Tomorrow, I will patiently wait for you to finish ranting,
catch your breath sharply right in between your teeth
the way you always do right before your eyes tell me
how much my changed nature breaks your heart,
but baby, what Heathcliff's realized the whole time while
you desperately and reverently preached your doctrine
is that, baby, it hurts, but I've been the same all along.
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