How do you lose something that you never had to begin with?
How do you unlove someone when you never got to love them?
How do you move past something you never got to be apart of?
I almost gazed into your chocolate eyes for too long.
I almost wrapped my arms around your body too tightly.
One more squeeze and my rib cage could’ve collapsed into yours
One more prolonged brush across my cheek, one more moment between our lips and we could’ve danced to the vibration of our pounding sternums
I almost made you laugh too loud. We almost filled a room with too much joy, I almost liked your smile too much.
I could trace those crevices for hours and you could tell me what put them there. We could lie under the covers and create more between kisses
I think you made me smile too much.
I think your goodnight whispers tucked me in too tight
I think that if I use enough blankets, I could still hear them
Maybe if I fall asleep just right, you’ll still be here in the morning
And maybe when we wake, there will be no almosts.
We could hold our bodies too close together, we could sink into one another and maybe we could fall in love.

People often ask me how I can love the one thing that broke me. They ask me how I can touch a burning stove, watch my hand swell up and  then touch it again. They ask me how I can return to my *****. As if someone else will clean it up.
When I was 4 years old, I ate an entire box of thin mints. It was fully intended and I definitely did not apologize when my dad found the remains of his favorite cookie all over my face but he forgave me anyway.
In sixth grade, I ran away from home. When my mom figured out my elaborate plan of going to my friends house, three blocks away, there was quite a bit of yelling. I spent the next two weeks confined by the walls of my bedroom and when I was finally allowed out, she gave me a hug.
People ask me how I can look into the devils eyes and tell him that he's forgiven but I can't mistake the tilt of their heads when they say this
They forget that they too, are sinners.
They forget that dark cannot drive out dark, that a buried hatchet does no good if there's a marker above it.
They forget about the knives caught in their spines twisted just enough to hold their pride up, they can't see that it would feel so much better to just take it out. Clean off the blade and then bury it too. There's no point in hoarding stones when you don't have the right to throw them so you might as well give him some too. Watch him rub them together and wait for the first flame while you get yours ready. But when you find that you're the only one with burnt palms, you're going to realize that just because the stove was hot last time you touched it, doesn't mean it's hot now.

She had a strange feeling that something was behind her. Dark street corners stayed clear and her mind was foggy for she had a little too much to drink. Turned down too many beds to sleep in that night, she always preferred her home. Weird how your mind can echo footsteps when its spinning, she almost thought they were her own.
He always loved the color red and her lips were a perfect shade of burgundy under the street lights. Crimson whispers covered her ears as he mentions shades of daisies. Tells her they'd look great spread across her bed. Smeared between her legs. Tells her he can show her gardens of consent, she forgets about her own.
Waits for sheets to swallow her whole but heavy hands are all that do. Neck stained with finger prints, wrists were cut stems, by the time he was done picking flowers, everything was just a little..Red.

I remember the summer of 10th grade so clearly. I snuck you into my room and we laid under the covers for the entire three months. We talked about our favorite songs and the way the sun feels on our skin, about how things used to feel. We planned out every detail of our future together and played it out on Sims. You were so beautiful. You took over every room, you were so full.
My sheets still smell like you. Sometimes I play caterpillar with my blankets and it's almost like I can touch you. Like a familiar hug, you never liked to let go. As if saying goodbye was too hard, as if too many people tried to forget you.
My mom hasn't forgotten you. I remember her telling me about how she skipped school for you and how she decided to stay in bed for her entire junior year. I remember her telling me about how you weren't allowed in her room so she made space in her medicine cabinet instead.
Cleared shelves for you when she got her own place, wrote you into every divorce paper, mistook her name for yours. Stuffed you into breathing tubes for her son, tore off a piece of her, a piece of you for him. kicked you out when she found your residue on tinfoil, told you that she didn't raise you this way, said the wrinkles around your lips are unrecognizable and your cheekbones aren't carved the same.
She asks me why I've been scratching at my ribcage, why my fingertips can lay comfortably between them. She tells me that it's like looking in a mirror 20 years earlier. That my complexion is as faded as her high school yearbook. Washed out like a bottle of wine, like the one I held to my lips the night before. She tells me to eat an apple, tells me to pick up the one that fell to the ground, tells me to wash it off, to wash out the mouth, to empty it of alcohol, asks me not to carve holes through it, asks me not to rot like the other ones. Act like my body isn't being taken over by seeds, like my stomach doesn't boil when I hear his voice, like the only butterflies I feel aren't when I kick at my comforter. She tells me that if you don't leave room for depression, eventually he'll get the hint but in this family, if you fall hard enough, there's bound to be bruises.

A good day is when youre singing in the car and your brother shouts every lyric. Its blasting NSINC and pretending that you're justin and he's...one of the other guys. It's reminding him of a time he stole a Hillary Duff CD from your sister because it was his guilty pleasure.

A good day is hearing him laugh again. Its looking into his eyes and not finding the devil. its seeing the ashes of a wildfire and knowing that there are trees still standing, that he is still standing and his legs are done shaking and he may have a few branches missing but he's willing to grow new ones.

A good day is being hit until you name five candy bars. Snickers, Twix, Hersheys, sour patch kids..wait. no. See, its so hard to think when your head is a pack of smarties. Does he remember when he taught you how to crush them and inhale the powder? Your first blunt was the sweetest but he was looking for a different high.

A good day is having him ask about your record player as if he's never seen one before. As if everything is new to him, as if he's missed a whole lifetime. He tells you that its like falling asleep and waking up to a different sky and wondering how long it's been that way. Its staring into a mirror to watch your eyes dilate, its watching them change colors and remembering how they used to be.

He tells you that he wants every day to be a good day. That this time will be different. He tells you that its been 5 days and he's still counting but all you can think of is the last.. day 5; Hearing your mothers phone ring and knowing who it is even though its a blocked number. You think of day 10 and all the sweat he laid shaking in. Day 15, when you saw him for the first time in 3 months and his smile for the first time in years. He tells you about the friends he's made and laughs about the brick wall he hangs out with outside. He says that even though there's a piece of glass between you, he's never felt so free.

You think of day 35 and the three phone calls you missed and you remember picking up the 4th one. When he told you that he was sorry. That he tried but couldn't reach you. He tells you that he went for plan B, he tells you that he found an old friend that always picks up and how he forgot why they stopped talking in the first place.

You tell him that youre sorry. You tell him that your head was stuck in smarties and you've been hoarding candy bars for months.

Day one; You put a lighter to wrappers and your eyes are a wildfire.

K: For me, Wrath is a warm bed to fall into at the end of a long day. I’d much rather be angry than sad, so I close my eyes.

S: For me, patience is a warm blanket for when the thermostat stops working. My circulation contracts and my hands turn blue, so I hold them.

K: I hate you
S: I love you

S: I still say no to coffee dates because your burns are still on the tip of my tongue.

K: I hope her kisses burn through every layer of skin that they come in contact with.

S: I hope the ring you promised me is just as beautiful on her finger.

K: I hope your ring finger is stained green from our promise ring, I beg you tear away at the skin.

S: I remember how your heartbeat felt with my head against your chest and now I have to focus on mine to forget it.

k: thump, thump
s: thump, thump

K: I’ve become so angry I can feel my heartbeat in my fists.

S: It’s been 4 months and I still keep skype open on my computer screen.

K: You seem so happy on social media, I nearly pray that you cry yourself to sleep.

S: I hope the girl you thought would make you happy appreciates the body I tried so hard to help you feel okay about because god knows, I'm still waiting to do it myself.

K: I hope the girl that makes you the happiest you’ve ever been ends up making you feel disgusted about your own body just because she acted like she found worth in it.

K: you made MY body feel WORTHLESS
S: you made MY body feel WORTH IT

S: When I saw that you posted pictures of her with the caption "she's so beautiful", I just hoped that she would believe it when you decided not to.

K: When I saw a picture of you and another girl the first thing I thought to do was bash your nose in on the concrete.

S: when I told you to be happy, I meant it. whether it's with me or with her. I don't care. make yourself happy. you deserve it.

K: when I told you to be happy, I didn't mean it. I don't want you to find someone who loves you as much as I did because you don't deserve it. you didn't deserve me. you deserve pain.

K: and I hope you do what's worst for you.
S: and I hope you do what’s best for you.

How to date a mormon when you're not mormon.
Step one; Refrain from using the phrase "oh my God" when around his parents because I swear to God, they will mention it at every family dinner.
Step two; Hold the polygamy jokes, he will not think it's funny.
Step three; Do not google what happens in the Temple...and when you do google what happens in the temple, don't try to do the sacred handshake with him...
Step four; Try not to compare his religion to a cult because.. ******* it, be respectful.
Step five; When he says that he respects you and your religious views, know that he's already planning your next trip to the temple.
Step six; when he takes you to the temple, remind him that you will never get to see the inside and when he tells you that the curb appeal is enough, know that he'll always be wanting more.
Step seven; When he decides to attend a mormon based school, realize that cost is not the only thing he's running from. And when you find out that the school requires him to spend time with a group of girls once a week, as "family home evening", trust that its only once a week.
Step eight; When he's forced into
The singles ward, remind him that it doesn't mean anything. And then convince yourself that it doesn't mean anything.
Step nine; When a girl answers his phone for the first time, tell yourself that curb appeal means nothing..Tell HIM that curb appeal means nothing. That walls are just walls, no matter how they're put together; that doors are just doors, no matter how they open and windows are just windows, no matter how blue. Tell him that curb appeal does not matter and he will listen to you...he will enter and he will explore every floor. Take notes on every room, leave fingerprints on every doorknob. He will make himself at home and wave to you from the inside and you will finally understand when he invites you in to show you a ring on the temples left hand..and you will tell him that he was right. A curb view is more than enough.