17 months without seeing you -

1 phone call and every feeling I ever suppressed exploded into my body.

I thought the dam I had built was a precautionary one. A nice safety mechanism in case it ever monsoons.

I had no idea water had been building on the other side patiently waiting for one small crack to burst completely.

They say time moves differently for everyone.
I know mine slows down when I am counting down the days to see you.
I think I’ve found the easiest way to extend my life.
Have a date with you, always 30 days away.

All this time I thought I was alone.
Comparing you to everyone when you had moved on with your life.
Only to find out, you were also stuck.
We were unaware we were each others best.

We talked on the phone for 6 hours.

You said you always felt safe with me. I admitted I hadn’t found the level of openness or comfort I had with you with anyone else. You admitted the same.

We talked on the phone for 6 hours.

You said that you had been more comfortable and vulnerable with me than any other person besides your childhood best friend.

We talked on the phone for 6 hours.

I admitted I hadn’t been able to match our chemistry with anyone. You admitted the same and said you still often thought of me for inspiration.

We talked on the phone for 6 hours.

I thought I was the one that hadn’t moved on but you were standing still with me.

We talked on the phone for 6 hours.
I normally hate talking on the phone.

I know you don’t love me like you loved her.
And I know because I don’t love you like I loved him.
It’s the scorned that can see the pain in another.

I know you don’t love me like you loved her and don’t blame it on time.
You’ll say it was two years but you said you loved her after 3 dates.
We’ve been together for 3 months.

But it’s not about the words.
And I actually don’t want you to say them because then I’d feel like I’d need to say them back and I’d feel guilty that I meant them less this time.
If you said them tomorrow it wouldn’t change my opinion.
It’s not the lip service but a knowing.
A knowing of what it feels like when you are loved like that.

I’m anxious.
It’s a general type that scares me.

Although it’s not general.

I rarely open this website if it doesn’t involve love.
It’s become my little secret outlet.
The true feelings come out here before I can write them in a diary.
The gut instincts appear in anxiety sentences in this box before I believe them.
So I guess what I’m really trying to ask right now -
Is this enough?
Will it ever be enough?

So much guilt from unproductive time.
I love an idle Saturday.
But somehow I can’t avoid hating myself for taking one.

I like being really tired before going to sleep.
It feels good to fight one last thing before bed, even if that thing is me.

After all of this time.
All these years.
I still have such a lust for possibility.
I still love the dream.
I still love working towards it.
Life is too big to dream small.

I think one of my issues with relationships is that I’ve seen them as a destination.
Instead of a climb.
A point to get to instead of a path to take with a friend.
The journey is the fun part.

Look, at the end of the day.
I’m just simply horrified,
That my married friends think it impressive,
That a woman sleeps with her husband 4x a week.
I’m too young to think that old.

You came up to Tahoe for the weekend.
I’m not sure I’ve ever met someone as nice and thoughtful as you.
I’ve never felt so cared for.
It made me feel overwhelmed.
Uncomfortable even.
How cared for I felt.
It made me want to push away.

Everything I want.
But I’m squirming in your affection.

I realize I wouldn’t squirm if you pulled away.
If you back burnered me.
If you acted like you didn’t care.

I would instead run towards you.
Trying to be wanted.
To win your affection.

I won and I don’t know how to accept it.
I don’t know how to hold you.
To accept the love I keep trying to earn.

I put a hoodie on when I’m high.

I have a hoodie on.
And I’m thinking about you.

I saw you in LA.
You were just as lovely as I remember.
Our week together wasn’t a lucid dream.

You brought flowers to dinner for me and Cait.
You paid for dinner.
You cuddled me through the night.

I don’t understand how you can be this nice.
What’s the catch?

We kissed to ring in the new year.
You are one of the nicest people I’ve ever met.
You brought me breakfast in bed.
I’m scared that you don’t mean the things you say.
I’m not sure if it’s my intuition talking or self-preservation because if I believed what you said.
God if 50% of it was real.
I’d be in way too deep.

He told me he had this insecure moment.
Where with everyone else he had gone out with if he thought about the idea of getting serious he believed he’d enhance their life, make it better.

And with me, it was the first time he felt like I would be better off without him. That I could find someone better than him.

I told him he shouldn’t discount himself like that.

He said -

“You don’t understand - you have seen the best of me tonight. I don’t think I’ve seen the best of you.”

But I think he’s wrong.
I don’t think I’ve seen the best in him.

I didn’t get it before.
After you -
The sad love song was no longer dramatic.
The broken poet’s words finally made sense.
The things I thought I was immune
Pierced my skin without warning or a fight.
My armor was no match for the blade of heartbreak.

And at the end of all of that heartbreak.
All of the dinners you couldn’t eat.
The bottles you drowned yourself in.
The tears you left on every fabric you touched.
You’ll realize -
He was nothing special.
But the way you loved him was.

You cannot find what you are seeking in the arms of another.
You cannot cuddle or **** your way into peaceful oblivion.
You have to carve the chair in which you sit.
You have to make it comfortable.
To make it fit you.
Where your legs are not pressed and remain restless.
One where your back does not feel heavy with the weight of your head.
Only you can mold something to suit your bones.

At first I loved you too much.
It was too much because you didn’t love me back.
I don’t really know how I talked myself into stopping.
I think I finally became at peace with knowing and loving you as a human.
But accepting you weren’t MY human.

If it was up to me.
I’d be with you every night.
If it was up to me.
I’d let you win every fight.
If it was up to me.
You would still be mine.
Thank god it wasn’t up to me.

Don’t call me when you miss me.
Don’t call me when you’re sad.
Don’t call me when you realize I was the best partner you ever had.
I didn’t call you when I was broken.
I didn’t call you when I sobbed.
I didn’t call you when I was hyperventilating on the bathroom floor from the love I still felt for you.

I wonder if I’ll be a mom.
I wonder if I’d be a good one.
I wonder if that mole on my arm should be checked out.
I wonder what I’d look like with lip filler.
I wonder what my friends value about me the most.
I wonder if they all think I’m a good friend.
I wonder what it would take to just force everyone to switch to electric vehicles and if oil money is the only real thing that’s been stopping it.
I wonder what it feels like to bring someone home for Christmas I’m really excited about.
I wonder if I’ll ever have that feeling.

There were only ever two real ones for me.
The rest were just killing time.

Tonight I realized I was never a real for you.
I was just a filler and you were robbing me blind.

So even though you have broken my heart, yet again, I wanted to say, in another life, I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you.

There was nothing special about you,
But the way I loved you was.

The little cove on Sifnos we hiked to and swam for hours.
The back lot filled with pine trees we rode horses on as kids.
The field of blackberries we’d get splinters in picking enough for a homemade cake.
The nook of your arm, my head on your chest and your hand on my back, as we drift off for a Sunday afternoon nap.

I used to think the feeling of magic could only be found in another person.
The rush you get when two souls connect and the world spins slower and everything feels better.
But I’ve started feeling it lately without people.
I’ve started feeling it alone- looking at my life, my plans, my future, without the fantasy of a partner.
Maybe I just didn’t allow myself to see it before.
I had to always project it on someone else.
But it was always here.
Maybe it’s me.

Thinking about packing makes me realize how much I am going to miss this place.
It feels like a little death leaving what has been home for 5 months.
I’m aware this may be an end to us.
To the winter/spring romance that felt so easy.
To our friend group, the six of us, skiing all day and partying all night at Pete’s.
To the dinners we cooked in this tiny kitchen with two working burners.
To being the big spoon.
To showering together despite the **** water pressure.
To waking up with my head on your chest and feeling so at ease.
I don’t want it to end.
I hope it doesn’t.
But I also won’t try to force anything.
What we have is too good to end in strain.
If it has to end, I’d rather it end as it came.
Easy, out the front door with a smile on our faces as we laugh one last time at one of your dumb ******* jokes.

Is the perfect partner an illusion?
Similar to the Easter Bunny.
People talk about him.
Make eggs and decorate in preparation.
But he is not real.
He also, has nothing to do with the actual holiday he represents.

We are told over and over in life to find a partner.
To seek, to prep, to create pretty little things.
But that’s not what it’s about.
Just like the bunny has a much more shallow story than the resurrection of Christ for the Christian faith.

We are shorting ourselves in life hopping after a perfect partner when the true meaning and happiness of this world is derived from something much deeper.
Something bunnies and pastels will not and cannot fill.

You’re not my cookie cutter guy.
You are rough around the edges.
Your ends refusing a mold.
I can’t put a bow on you.
I can’t make you a party trick at Christmas.
And I kind of love that.

He’s just not into you.
You know it to be true.
You know what it feels like when someone loves you.

He’s just not that into you,
You know it to be true.
If he was you wouldn’t be making up excuses of why he didn’t text you.

He’s just not that into you
You know it to be true.
And that’s ok, because you never loved him.

I read a poem that said,

“Find me where happiness doesn’t feel like a false spring.”

I think that’s when you know you’re in love.

You are no longer looking for the storm.
The other shoe to drop.
The reality check.

You’re all in.
Fully abandoning any thought of snow.

You’re not my usual type.
You’re larger.
In multiple ways.
Physically, you played football and rugby and look like it.
Mentally, you have strong opinions and care deeply.
Emotionally, you don’t shy away from the hard conversations.
You’re not my usual type.
I wasn’t attracted to you by your jawline or abs.
I was attracted to you First because of your brain.
Second, for the way I felt around you.

I do not have words for you yet.
Can’t sum you up on a few lines.
No rhyme or poem comes to mind.
But I feel like when I do- it will be a good one.

Why is it that with every breakup since
I think of you
I cry at the loss of you

I keep thinking if I let myself feel it fully it will eventually stop. Doesn’t it have to eventually stop?

Christmas used to be magic
Mistletoe had meaning
Tinsel told me reasons this year was different
Little lights told me lies and I believed every single one
Carols charmed me
Presents paraded in front of me
Oh god and love, love felt so very near.

I make quick decisions about people.

I like you or I don’t and I know within the first few times meeting you.

I don’t understand when other people also don’t come to these quick decisions about me and others. I’ll ask questions to myself like “Can’t they tell I’m great?”

Once I’m in, I’m in- and I’ll love you more fiercely than you’ve ever been loved. But I won’t show as I’ll be afraid you won’t love me back or at least as much as I love you.

So I will conceal some of my love, give it to you in smaller pieces, mostly non-verbal because words are my love language and mean the most to me. I will see how you respond and reciprocate.

I assume people are good until they show me otherwise.

I am afraid that no one will ever love the full, raw version of me. I’m afraid I’ll always be too much for other people.

I want to open up, share, and know someone’s life story, and how their brain works- but I want them to do it first.

I want them to be vulnerable so I can be too.

I am scared to show people how I am really feeling.
I am scared to give someone control over my emotions.

I hate the idea of someone having power over my emotions.
That feels like a loss to me.
Even if that loss is to the best hands.

I am afraid to rely on anyone.
I want to be self-sufficient and singular.

But I also want to be so intertwined with someone under the sheets on a Saturday morning that even the smell of waffles and coffee doesn’t tempt me to move. I’ve lost track of what limbs are theirs and mine.

I want intimacy without the real ****.
Because the real **** scares me shitless.

I can’t help but romanticize every little bit of my life.
Give me heartbreak I’ll make it growth.
Give me a failure I’ll make it a lesson.
Give me a foe I’ll make them a friend.
Give me your heart I’ll keep it safe.

Love comes out so easily sometimes it feels unintentional.
Like boiling water in a *** on the stove.
It just bubbles out of me.
You might think from these poems I’m a hopeless romantic.
One who tosses rocks and windows, says I love you first and does grand gestures.
I don’t.
I don’t share these poems.
I don’t breakdown to love songs.
Most people say I’m intimidating.
The love comes out in every small action.
Giving them the bigger bowl of pasta.
The piece of bread with more garlic.
Remembering their Tuesday plans.
Wanting to understand how they think.
Finding that perfect, thoughtful gift they never asked for but they love.
Really listening when they speak.
Giving an unsolicited head rub just because I’m really good at them - and I like to hear them sigh with relief as they melt into my legs.
Just like the bubbles in the ***, one by one, they boil out of me.
Often, to evaporate.

Maybe the reason writing is so soothing to me is because I truly am a woman of my word.
I know these letters I write will not be lies.

I keep waiting for the shoe to drop.
I can’t believe you like me. My brain won’t let me.
Maybe it’s evolution of thought.
Self preservation from it’s previous losses.
I discount everything that’s happened.
Looking for signs to prove my doubt.
To not become hopeful because it can’t be true.
A guy like you would be too good to be true.

There’s been a lot of toxic love before you.
You being pure makes me see it.

My brain is wasting all of its time on these **** men.
Not worth it’s time or processing power.
I should be using it to build my empire.
I’m never happy after thinking about love interests.
At best, I’m left with an anxious longing.
So why do I put myself in that loop?
I am the happiest, and feel the most alive when I am creating.
Creating new, powerful things.
Growing.
Why do I let myself get distracted by the things that don’t bring me joy.
It’s time for some mental spring cleaning.

The months I felt the deepest I kept quiet.
I lay in bed and wonder if I’ll ever feel sure again.
If anyone will ever calm my waters that deeply.
Ignite me as much as he did.
How many I love you’s I didn’t say.
Even though I knew he felt it too.

It would have still ended in ruin.
Still here this October night searching for meaning.
I just wish I would have allowed myself to fully burst while it happened.
Right now I’m a malfunctioned firework.
Never truly went off to see beauty in the sky.
And yet, I am here. On the ground. Exploded.

I have empires in my future.
You should have never been allowed over the threshold.

Part of me hopes I’ll get married and have kids just because of the reality that regardless of how successful I am, I will be deemed a lonely failure by many if I don’t have a family.

Part of me hopes I’ll never have a family so I can change that stereotype.

I keep looking at my phone.
Thinking if I can articulate my obsessive thoughts.
Feelings.
Pain.
Eloquently enough.
They will somehow go away.

I hate that I can’t stop thinking about you.
It makes me feel like you’ve won twice.

We were made from exploding stars.
Parts of the universe from far away on a size of magnitude we can’t fathom.
So why do we feel sometimes like our circumstances are immovable?
We’re blueberry pie and deep space.
We’re atoms that formed a conscious being that can create, move, think and BE.
Let yourself be free to evolve.
Watch yourself manifest new versions of you.