every single.
goddamn thing.
is
a
struggle.


the mornings always start off so well.

then
the unanswered phone calls.
the jealousy.
the priorities.
the tears.
the fights in the streets of brooklyn.
the misconstrued words.
the wanting.
the waiting.
the hoping.

the fear.



then

my head on your shoulder.
and
the words spoken as the moonlight filters through the curtains.

and

the empty gatorade bottles.
and
the giraffe named glen.
and
two others on a t-shirt.
and
standing in front of the a/c.
and
filling up the britta at 4:30am.
and
the windy rooftop barking dog.
and
a run through the pouring rain.
and
your skateboard.
and
my shower.
and
your smelly feet.
and
my inability to blow my nose.
and
morning breath.


the morning breath makes it all worth it.