I didn't really know much about whirlwind love
or shotgun weddings
Until I went out with a forbidden boy in my new city
almost immediately we were struck by lightning
electric and on fire
with his hand on my face
dancing and kissing and sweating and laughing
someone thought we were married
so to make it right
he got down on one knee and I spent the week as Mrs. S
I broke all my own rules with him
*** with the lights on, holding hands in public
giving up my jaded and calloused heart
my favorite moment?
standing in the shower with him
listening to Beach House
hot water falling on us like sweet honey in the summertime
the soft glow of afternoon sunshine beaming in from the window
we took turns washing each other's hair
and kissing each other's necks
nothing has ever felt so pure
so safe
so beautiful
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every single day there are things that make me think
"huh, I should write about this"
and I make a mental note of it
and then I forget all about it
until the next day
when I see patches of green moss creeping along the cold cement sidewalks
or the warmth of his hand against the small of my back as we boogie down on the dance floor at the Mineshaft to Come On Eileen
playing spin the bottle in a haunted hotel room at four in the morning and hoping to land on the same girl over and over and over again cause her lips taste like cigarettes and Burt's Bees peppermint chapstick and I just ******* crave that **** ya know?
I crave the things that make me want to write, that make me feel inspired, that make me feel human
and at the end of the day it doesn't matter if I write any of it down because I still felt it and I still love it and it still happened and it still counts
life still ******* counts
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not everything is a big deal
just a little something I've been trying to remind myself of these days

I live in a very old house with yellow walls and tall ceilings and creaky doors
Every day I subconsciously make the same wrinkley dissatisfied face towards the smell of rotting peaches that line the walkway
The house is much prettier when everything is dead
I haven't made love in this house
though it's not to be said that love has been absent
In fact I have never loved anyone or anything more in any other house than in this old slanted set of walls
It was here that I began to fall in love with myself and with my life
It was here that recovery became more of a lifestyle and less of a chore
Now I here on my bed in my tiny room in my tiny old house with my tiny little puppy
thinking about all of the things that used to keep me up at night
and none of it matters anymore
because not everything is a big deal
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I wish I wasn't so afraid all the time
it's a default
I mean ****, my earliest human memory is of being afraid of something on the tv
He told me it's a huge flaw, problematic
that I need to have a better grasp on reality
I asked him how he does it
how is he not afraid
"Science, baby. It's all about basic science."
He doesn't believe in ghosts or spirits
aliens nor monsters
I think the only thing he is truly afraid of is himself
(but he'll never admit that)
I'm afraid of him, too
afraid of falling for another broken man
afraid of the addiction and the sickness
You know it is really true what they say,
we fall for people who remind us of our parents

pt. 2
We were sittin there on his driveway
beer in his hand, a joint in mine
and he said to me
You can leave at any point and I wouldn't blame you. I would be okay. But God do I want you to stay.
and I couldn't think of anything to say
the silence choked me
so we went inside and sat on his bed
his hand in mine
and we looked at a book full of all of Van Gogh's paintings
I cried
He cried
we're trying
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trying to fix broken people isn't romantic
hoping that with enough love and compassion you will be able to end a viscous cycle of addiction isn't romantic
there is nothing pure or golden about it
neither noble nor valliant
it's just stupid and selfish and idealistic
so let them drink
and drink and drink
because no matter how hard you try
they won't stop
till it's too late
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I am so much better than I used to be
in every way possible
I don't cry as much anymore
I don't scream as much anymore
I don't let unworthy men put their ***** hands on my body anymore
Recovery comes in waves, big and small
and sometimes it is hard to celebrate the little victories
so here's to those triumphs, the forgotten ones
Here's to getting out of bed before noon
here's to not calling in sick to work
remembering to return the dvd's on time
eating food that will make me feel good
eating food in general
bringing my inhaler with me when I know I'm going to smoke cigarettes
not beating myself up for smoking said cigarettes
here's to a summer in which I am actually comfortable in my own skin
and here's to daily progress
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my knees hurt when I sit in the same position for too long
my heart hurts in the same way
I am restless, fleeting
like the thunderstorm outside right now
banging the shutters against the window
forcing them to kiss
like a child with two dolls
or like a boy with bad intentions
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