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emily wood Feb 2015
my skin melts with the heater on high, hi.
how are you? followed by other questions i do not care for. four.
days since i’ve cried. that’s got to be a new record for my eyes. i.
am incapable of spending another minute looking out of this window and letting my mind convince me that i am destined to be depressed for the rest of my life. i’ve
got some things to do, i’m not sure what - i’m not sure where but you can grab my ring finger or grasp my arm. i’m
certain my skin would step melting from your touch and maybe my head would be clearer than the weather just from the friction we could create. eight.
hours since you have left, gone to work. i want to write you a postcard but i live here with you. we sleep in the same bed but i don’t think you see my skin.
emily wood Aug 2014
Sleeping on the airport floor and getting used to different time zones was almost an accomplishment for us.
I considered the donut shop in Portland next to the church we were attending an added plus.
We never got donuts though, only stood in line.
I cursed at the sky and hoped things would be fine.
God has a plan for all of us.
I just hope you're included in mine.
emily wood Jul 2014
when he says he’s starting not to care, do not press your lips on the curve of his spine when you cannot fall asleep. do not wear the bra that hugs your chest the tighest and do not wear his favorite shade of lipstick. when he tells you that you care too much, do not hesitate to create a barrier. i have a feeling you have nowhere to be but you’re heading out of his door with no intention of looking back. when he says that he is not capable of loving you, believe him. you are the headlines on the front page of the paper, bold and noticed. you are the wind dancing, creating goosebumps on the skin of many. you are a woman who cannot risk her heart being held in the wrong hands. when he looks at his own hands, he will remember yours. you will be the ache in his voice as he tries singing songs for the next few months. you will be the empty seat next to him while he decides he wants to start drinking again. you will be his first shot of alcohol and his last game of beer pong. you will be loved. you will be. you will.

— The End —