i think to be loved is to be a pomegranate. it’s to be held as your tough ridges get scored and gently taken apart. to bare your intricate crimson soul, one piece at a time. to stain the delicate fingers of your carver with your blood. to fall apart at the gentle brush of their thumb. to be unmade. to be consumed. to be one with the person who tediously pulled you apart and stain their lips pink.