I looked up at her, “Do you know why people drink too much? Why they push themselves over the limit?” It was a sincere question that I wanted to know the answer to.
She set her drink down, looked around the bar, and pursed her lips. Her eyes stared right through me, perhaps searching for words. She looked at me again, with her mouth barely open.
“Not everyone drinks to get drunk, or have a one night stand. People drink to forget. People drink to cope. People drink to be ghosts of their past. Every shotglass that someones drank, its a cry for help. If you listen closely, you can hear what they say through their ***** and salt.” Three clinks from glass hitting the table shortly followed.
“Did you hear it? They said ‘I lost my job’, ‘my boyfriend cheated’, and the most common one that I hear, ‘I’m unhappy’.”
Her eyebrows shot up, a greater understanding shining through her eyes. “I think thats why so many shy people are so good at art. They’re not good at expressing themselves in words, so they do it through lines and colors.”
She stopped speaking for a moment.
“It’s like…your favorite alcoholic drink says a lot about you.”
And with that, she finished her margarita, stood up, and left.

I wonder what that said about her.

• flowers
• sunsets
• the beach
• you

What I felt for him was like a galaxy of longing. A galaxy filled with thoughts and scenarios that would never play out the way I wanted to; but a galaxy nonetheless. As he sat in the chair perfectly aligned with the wall, I wondered about every possible thing I could’ve said in that moment, but I said nothing. I sat on the floor in front of him, looking down at the floor. I thought about telling him so many things, but once again only silence escaped my lips. He stared intently at his homework on his lap. He looked up for one solemn moment and said “I need to tell you something,” and he started talking about his brothers and sisters and he told me how he loved me and at that moment in time, anything he said after that was irrelevant. When he finished speaking, I said, “I love you too,” with a glimmer in my eye and the smallest smile on my lips. His face dropped, and I realized he didn’t mean it the way I did. I quickly added, “As a good friend though,” trying not to look surprised or saddened. But it was too late, and I was sitting there on the floor trying not to show my emotions. “I didn’t mean it that way, I don’t like you like that. I didn’t think you would take it that way; it’s why I said it after I mentioned my brother and sister. I meant it in a family way. I’m sorry.”  I stared at him for the longest time, questioning the different things I could say to him to make him feel better; I came up with nothing. I hated that feeling; I hated that feeling so much I hate it when I want to say something but I cant, because I cant think of anything to say, because the words get thick in my throat and every single nerve in my body is telling me not to say it. I hate it when you don’t know what to say and all that’s left in the room is the empty silence.  I hate it so much.
❦
I called him a week after the incident and asked him if he had anything to do.
“I cant do anything this week, I’m really busy sorry.” There was a moment of silence before I answered him, “Oh…” I didn’t mean to sound sad, but I did, and he knew why. He got angry with me, and he told me to stop. He told me to stop trying to make things happen that wont, to stop wasting time over someone that doesn’t feel the same towards you as you do to them, to stop making scenarios in my head, to stop wanting someone that didn’t want you, to stop waiting. And I hung up the phone, and I did. I stopped. I stopped doing all of that; and I ran. I ran through my neighborhood and thought about all of the things I should let go of. I ran through the meadows and the valley and the creeks until I had nothing left to think about. And I got a lot of things done that day; I pulled my life back together.

When was the last time you heard silence?
When was the last time nothing sounded like everything?
When was the last time you could hear the sadness in silence, or the comfort in it?
Tell me, when was the last time you felt it in the air, heavy and light and looming and drifting at the same time?
Tell me, when was the last time you knew that the silence after "I'm ok," shouted "that's a lie"?
Or when the silence after "I'm alright," made you feel secure?

**Now tell me, when was the last time silence was ever really silent?

I've tried to explain him but the only thing that comes out is bits and pieces of broken thought.
Its like everysingleword ever made has not, does not, live up to what he is.
I can only explain him through metaphors and similes because nothing can come close to describing someone as magnificent as seeing the sunrise on the first day of summer.
His skin is made of stars and constellations that are constantly being formed.
His eyes are like the vastness of galaxies and space itself; and when I think I can looked away, there's always something more to see.

He is endless, infinite;
and I still have so much to learn about him.

Its 1:30 in the morning and the only thing I can think about is that you are in my veins and I want to clear my body.

Because if doses of you were illegal, I'd be arrested four times over.

Death is like this...
they call you annoying for the first time and you feel your throat tighten up as you slink into submission.
Do not let it get to you.
Death is like this...
they stop listening to you mid sentence and leave you with your eyes meeting the floor.
Please keep talking.
Death is like this...
they say you're ugly and you can feel your heart sink to the floor as your eyes well up with tears.
Their opinion is worthless anyway.
Death is like this...
your first breakup almost tears you at the very seams as you try to keep yourself together and keep your heart from pounding out of your chest.
Its ok if you're not alright.
Death is like this...
they say they love you through gritted teeth and eyes that wont meet yours.
Someone will mean it one day.
they say they love you and they mark another girl with their lips.
They were not worthy of you.
they say they love you and then they leave you.
They were too scared to take on responsibility.
they say they'll be there for you until its 3am and you're crying and sending them texts saying how everysinglething is coming back to you but they see you the next day and act as if they hadn't gotten the text.
Find someone who will.
the one you trust the most lies to you.
Give them one more chance.
Death is like this...
you're sitting in bed wondering what's the point of going to school when all you can see is empty eyes and fake smiles.
There is more beauty within a person than you can imagine.
you're sitting on the bathroom floor wondering where everything went wrong.
Remember to see all the small things going right.
you're sitting in the tub asking yourself how you got so weak.
Please stay strong.
Death is like this...
you gave them another chance but they didn't give you the time of day.
There will be someone that proves to you that "sorry" is more than a word.

But death can also be like this:
sitting on a bed at age 80 with the best memories of your life going by.
*Please remember that.

My name means “gracious gift of God”, but this is not what I am.
My name does not mean “gracious gift of God” because I am not the product of one,
I am the product of many.
My name means “she sees,”
But there are glasses perched on my face with every intention of helping me see what is only a few feet away.

Isis, the most powerful Egyptian Goddess lives right between Jessica and Brady.
Isis is the goddess of magic and nature, two things that I love dearly yet no one knows about.
She stays unknown, and hidden, like she does not want to be seen.
With great excuse as well, because Isis is the only accurate depiction of me within these 16 letters, 7 syllables, 3 words.
Because I am not bound by connected lines
With spaces in between that have a bigger picture,
I am not my name in the most formal way.
I am the way that my curls frizz when I’ve forgotten to treat it,
Or the way that my hand flickers and wavers over a paper
When I’m about to forget an idea.
I show myself as a simple person
But I am not just one person.
With every breath you take you remove a piece of yourself
And breathe in a piece of someone close to you.
For that reason, I am not myself, not wholly at least.

I am the way my mother cuts down people with their own words,
The way she brought me to numerous swimming classes and taught me to love the ocean,
Or maybe the way words roll off my fathers tongue like he was born with this knowledge.
Maybe I am the way my friends tell me only absolute truths,
Or the way they only think in hypotheticals.

But come to think of it now,
These have all mixed and pieced together to become a part of me.
So maybe
In the end
I really am myself.

Your existense
makes me happy,
but all you do
is make me sad.

All these wasted raindrops
on a bridge bound by secrets and love,
that would never be constructed.

If I count your scars
and hold you tight,
maybe your problems
will disappear for the night.

He tells me I'm beautiful like its a fact, not a compliment.

You make my day a little bit brighter and your touch makes me feel a little more alive.

“No no darling,” he looked at me with nothingness in his eyes. “I don’t want you to save me. I like living in the darkness; if something comes up to you in the dark, you wont be able to tell. And when it catches you, it’ll be too late to escape.”

Another friendship ruined by my mistakes.

You think about death as if its when youre in your 90's, as if its in the far away future;
but it could be right around the corner and the sad fact is that we're not bulletproof.

skin against skin in the purest way
i want to feel your hands on my face when you lean in to kiss me
and i want to feel your arms against mine when we hug and hold hands
and those brief fleeting moments when we do are not enough
if i could hold you in my arms for the day i swear i would and i finally understand why people invented cuddling
and no matter what you do or how you look,
you're just so intoxicating and beautiful
and even in a strangers perspective i bet they'd say the same
its like you're made out of ******* because you're so addicting but i can't give in because there's a sign you made that says "for recreational use only"

and I wonder if anyone else has thought what I've written about you,
because you aren't just the stars;
you're the sun and the moon too.

Everyone always tells me that I need to stop thinking in order to reach clarity.
That thinking too much hurts.

But you know what I think?
I think that sometimes pain in necessary to see how I feel.
That sometimes I need to dig and scratch and claw deep down into my soul to realize.
That sometimes those restless nights in bed where I can't get every single emotion and 'what if' out; I toss and turn in bed with thoughts that never cease to rest; they are crucial.
Because sometimes in all of this, I find more important things.
I have these conversations in my head that 'click'... And I realize why I do the things I do.
And even though this piece of information isn't important or doesn't pertain to the problem I'm having,
it takes me one step closer to having every gear turn together in harmony.
One step closer to having everything about myself be somewhat understandable.
One step closer to understanding myself.

And you know what I think? I think that's important.

She fell in love with words
that were voids
filled with nothing but the spewing lies
that he pulled out of his mouth.

It makes me sad every time I touch your skin,
because you do not know the intention of my touch.

You're on my mind like the whiskey in my blood and the smell of cigarettes on my breath.