I find myself wanting to say something practical,
Like food, water, or shelter.
However, my one is something I know that I can’t live without
Something more important than the trifecta of survival.
Is someone whose life I’m not a part of anymore,
Someone who despises my whole being,
Someone who spent five months prying my black pearl of a heart out of the clamshell of my chest.
My first love.
We’ll call him Shane.
Shane was ugly.
Not conventionally ugly,
where someone would glance at his face and grimace.
No, he was ugly in the way of injury.
But not on his body.
On his heart.
His heart was so gnarled and twisted,
a stump of scar tissue rather than muscle.
It learned how to hate,
How to turn cold and hard.
Thanks to years of different stepdads, depression, abuse,
Shane had turned into an asshole.
A short, brilliant, sarcastic asshole that argued with everybody.
Naturally, I fell in love with him.
From best friends, to dating, to strangers,
We depended on each other.
No matter what, we could still turn to each other for comfort.
Two assholes who understood the world better than the idiots we shared class with.
Even after we broke up,
I still love him.
I know he hates me.
But I still love him;
I find myself to be the only one who can see the beauty in scar tissued hearts
And bright orange hair.