I crack fortune cookies with bandaged fingers damaged from all the fighting.
The faint sweetness of eleventh hour mistakes lingers on my lips and it's hard to remember if it was the whisky or your kiss.
The paper fortunes jest at me; "people find your presence uplifting", "your inner beauty inspire many".
Nice one fortune cookie.
Once a stranger told me the world needed my talents.
I didn't know how I stacked words together was a talent but they told me  'Don't you ever stop writing your words.
Your kiss seemed that important.
Like I needed it so I could exist somewhere else.
The whisky was our jet ski to a far off place that seems very similar to Hawaii but we're not that stupid to fly so close to reality.
You made it home too.
I secretly wish for a paper cut.
It'll only be another plaster.
I seek solace in the cracked shell of a cookie.
They say that long noodles are lucky in the Chinese culture.
There are only factory standards on my plate.
The sweetness of an eleventh hour mistake still lingers on my lips but it wasn't the whisky or your kiss.
It's oh so metallic.
Today it's from biting my tongue too hard.
It almost tasted like gunmetal but I thought of you and our Friday nights with a whisky bottle and some Chinese food.
I thought of you and how you don't read the fortune because you don't like the concept.
When I wanted to quit I thought that maybe it'd be stronger not to.
I break fortune cookies open with bandaged fingers damaged from climbing back up from a jump I thought twice about.
Half asleep you push the hair from your face and take all the paper fortunes and tell me how amazingly I fought today.
You say it as if I had bobbed and weaved inside the ring and I try to tell you how wrong you are.
Other people have got it worse.
"shut up" you smile. "don't compare yourself in pain, beauty, struggle, or worth"
I think about our Fridays with bottles of whisky and Chinese food and I'm grateful I love a girl like you.