I’m finished loving broken things; broken hearts, broken people. Grab a broken glass and press it’s jagged edges up against your chest. How does it feel? Warm? Gentle? Love is a cheap word, a cheap, cheap word that’s been stickered onto my tongue and peeled off by the first person to have looked at me in the eyes and smiled. Press the glass closer. Feel its sharpness against your skin. Feel it squeeze its way into your pores and draw blood on impact. Feel its broken points dig into you like the fingertips of a lovers touch. That’s love. Keep urging that glass into you. Now smile and laugh and say you’re happy. That you’ve never felt happier in your whole entire life. Lodge that glass so deep in between your ribs that it punctures your heart. Tell me you’re in love. I dare you.