The parameters of our lives are defined by the memories that echo through our heads at 2 am.

*I still love you but this just isn't working.
Have you ever considered medication for this?
It was instant. He didn't feel any pain.
You're just not cut out for this.
I think he's seeing someone else.
Time of death, 4:48.
Have you heard the news?
Are you sure you want to do that?
You're just not a good fit for us at this time.
We need to talk.
Just heard back from the doctor. Cancer. Stage 4.
Don't leave me.
50 years didn't seem so long, in retrospect.
Honey, listen...
It's just a routine checkup, nothing to worry about.
I never meant for this.
It's terminal.
I'm so sorry.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry, but...
Goodbye.
I have to go.
I'm leaving at the end of the month.
I'll miss you.
Goodbye.

Cigarettes and
red nail polish,
and one night stands,
that's what little girls are made of.

Bright blue pills and
soft pink lips,
and whiskey soaked nights
laced in regret,
that's what little girls are made of.

The sharp boys who whisper
behind street lamps in parks
know nothing of
what little girls are made of.

Broken hearts,
crushed dreams,
bitter souls, and
black coffee,
that's what little girls are made of.

Tear tracks and
bloodstains,
bruised knuckles and
fire.

That's what little girls are made of.

I'm not the most
put together person.
I'm really a small
hurricane of a girl.

I am not a metaphor
or a simile.
Not a ****** mystery
or a floral print dress.

I am flesh and blood,
bone and sinew.
I bend and break,
and snap back again.

I will keep you on your toes,
and never let you rest.
I will love you with everything
I have.

I will **** your marrow dry,
if you look at me the wrong way.
I am unafraid,
and I have nothing to lose.

I am a stack
of paperback books
and a broken
typewriter ribbon.

I am gale force winds,
and raindrops like steel.
I am wounded pride
and a mended fence.

I am learning to forgive myself.

I never thought I'd be
a pack a day
kind of girl.

I've seen the school assemblies,
heard my mother's shrill voice,
Don't you know what those things will do to you?
I've heard about the tar and the ash
and the cancer and the ventilators.

But there's something
about smoke curling around itself,
warm and inviting in the sharp,
snow scented air,
tiptoeing around my head
like a house cat.

There's something dangerous in
the scent of smoke on my skin,
in the taste of ash on my tongue.
Something that seems to say
I am not the kind of girl to **** around with.

It's a secret, a sly smile,
something that is all mine.
It's a destructive tendency,
it's a bad decision.
But it's mine, mine, mine
to make.

I am too much of everything
and somehow
not enough of anything.

I sleep too late,
put too much sugar in my coffee,
have too many shoes,
say too many things,
and hold on for much too long.

I am a mixture of the things I want and need,
the things that mean nothing and everything.
I am passionate about many unimportant things
and woefully apathetic about the issues that truly matter.

I fall in love 3 times a day
and often forget to brush my hair.
I am too loud
and I talk too much
and I have too many opinions about things
I know nothing about.

I romanticize people and books,
foreign countries and fictional characters
to the point where they may all be
figments of my imagination.

I am entirely made up
of quotes and song lyrics,
2am phone calls and long lost dust jackets
from books I know better
than my own soul.

I do not know answers
to questions like
where,
or when,
or how,
but I know
with some certainty,
that I am too much for you.

Since we spoke last,
I dyed my hair twice.
And got a couple jobs.
And quit a couple more.

I nearly got a tattoo,
but settled on a piercing instead.
I signed a lease for my first apartment,
and changed my major back
to the one you talked me out of the first time.

I got lost a couple times,
and learned how to save myself.
I figured out how important real friends are.
I went on a few dates,
and said a few things I regret.

I missed you and scorned you
in equal measure.
And finally realized
that everything in life is a lesson.

I learned what I will and won't
accept anymore.
And I could probably kick your *** at Halo now.

I changed my music tastes a couple times,
and tried not to think of you.
I learned how to code websites,
how to smoke menthols,
and how to hold my liquor.

I learned how to get off my phone and
enjoy life once in a while,
because I don't have to wait for you
to call anymore.

I counted hours and stopped counting months,
and realized that those anniversaries are just
other days now.
And that's okay.

I realized that life goes on,
no matter how much you're sure it won't.
And that's okay too.

I think we both know
I got
the better end
of the deal.

Love,
-L