simon-andersonEcho

American

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Freshman Year-"It's just a stage"Telltale stories of a girl too drunk to tell / Drunk on love / Drunk on lies

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1.2k

sobbing in staccatoI didn’t know waiting would be this / Hardly been a / Weak is my

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a year and a half laterWhat if instead of fighting nature we had followed through / And became something bigger than just me and you? / What if we hadn’t chosen based on fear and uncertainty?

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You Keep Me AfloatWaiting is harder than expected. Distance is shorter than it feels. Time is slower than the clock. And yet we keep holding on to it. Gripping until our knuckles turn white. Our fingers are dug into it and we hold on like it’s the only thing keeping us a float. Holding on is so much harder than letting go when all to hold on to is memories. The raft is shrinking and the simplicity of sinking becoming clearer to me. Mourning the loss of us would be easier than mourning a relationship stretched to its limits. Every day I miss you. Every day I struggle to get through and there’s not prospect of things getting better. I love being together but we’re not together. You took my love to California and my life feels more empty than ever. 10 days is all I will get to reunite my life and my love. My life and my lover. When it’s over I’ll be where I started. Empty hearted but with eyes so full of tears I can’t make them stop. I embarrass myself at public events with my red eyes and sniffling nose. I get the most frustrating pity I never asked for. I feel more alone than my lifestyle permits. I am completely afloat. So sometimes I think of sinking and the simplicity it would bring, but I know I couldn’t let go: you’re knuckles are as white as mine.

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I'd rather hurt forever than forget youEvery time I think about it / Dream about it / I’m taken back to age 17

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My Mouth is Stuck in SmileI didn’t know that I could feel this much. Sugar rush, I start to blush, my mouth is stuck in smile. My hands are shaking and if I’m not mistaken you’re feeling it too. Tried and true, through and through cliché upon cliché none of them will do. Love is love and I’m in love with you. Hyperboles are not beyond me, but reality is just as good. Sure I would walk a thousand miles for you and set you free, but what’s the point in saying things that will never be. Forget the would's and listen to the will's: I will love you forever and with all I have. I will do everything in my power to keep us together and make the good outweigh the bad. I will hold you when you’re hurt and take care of you the best I can. I will always be proud of you. I will hold your hand. I will never regret a single moment we are together. And in my mind your name will remain synonymous with forever.

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all we really have is ourselvesNervous happiness / Reverse of the silly mess that made you feel anything less / Release of negative pressure

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My Paradise LostSo here we lie in our bed of lies but really it’s just a couch in an overheated dorm room. We try to alleviate the aroma of our sin by opening a window, letting the breeze of conscience in. It tousles my hair, but yours lies flat. It cools the sweat on our bodies and the heat of our action. In a moment what was pleasure has turned into shame. I become awkward and wish the courage liquid provided me hadn’t worn off. I notice my naked body in a way I didn’t before. I suddenly want to cover up; I’m embarrassed in front of you. We delved into the initial sin, letting lust be our next. Now we’ve conquered lust and made it our own. But what happens next? Naked bodies, afraid to touch, realizing that the other doesn’t belong to us. It’s still warm in here although the breeze is cooling. Your body is cold and in return so are my words. Awkward silence, each to our own thought. The quickest escape? I can read your mind. I throw you your clothes. We hesitate a goodbye kiss. Goodbye had meant nothing before this. Your face is red, your hair a mess. You leave in a hurry and I’m all too relieved. With the door shut behind you I return to the instigator of our lying bed. Which is really just a couch. Enough liquid: to give me the courage, to ignore the shame, to do it again.

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all i had of youI forgot your death day this year. It was two weeks past before I remembered the day I killed you. Aborted was what they called it. In the end it all means the same thing. I wonder if the dark of the womb is the same as the dark of dying. There are a million things I want to ask you but know that you won’t have the answer. Won’t tell me any answers. Your heartbeat is something I will never get over. Really it was all you had and, therefore, it was all I had of you. Every tiny piece of you was growing so quickly. I wonder if you would have looked like me. or Him. He would have loved you. He did love you without ever knowing you as more than a couple pounds on my belly. He noticed the weight gain but didn’t believe me when I told him that you were inside of me. somehow I knew. I was terrified, but I knew. Before the tests and I felt you inside of me, growing into a little heartbeat. I was afraid of you. You were so scary for being so small. Now, I wish I knew you. And afterwards I wished I had had more time to think before I killed you. Terminated you. Aborted you. Any way it’s put I’m the murderer and you’re still a memory of a heartbeat that mimicked mine. Where are you now? You won’t tell me.

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PhotographYour face is framed in memories my mind refuses to forget / I look into your eyes and instantly I’m in the middle of it / On top of the tallest building, inside of our favorite bridge

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