I once never pictured myself without the affections of a man who didn't have sweet adjectives for me
A man who wouldn't describe my kisses as sweet or compare me to rivers or trees or other powerful stances in nature
A man who wouldn't romanticize me as words spoken from other men in a time long since past.
I'm an enigma, a song, a piece of angel food cake
A thought, a meaning, a purpose for these boys
I'm red lipstick on a cheek on a friday night
I'm expensive sushi and wine
I'm delightfully mentally ill in a way only they felt like they could cure
I'm a seven month relationship ending in a **** and a break up and a roll over car crash
I'm a ****** virginity with no foreplay because i uttered the word yes so softly under my breath

And i am simultaneously none of these things.
I'm a song without words strummed in your guitar, played from the heart so strongly i couldn't stop the tears from rolling down my face
I'm a girl who denied love for you when i was busy loving a boy who loved drugs so much he couldn't feel his fingers and he loved other girls with nicer bodies and hair and eyes and the comparisons between what he had and them
I'm a girl who asked you to retie my bikini string eight years ago knowing the enticement it'd make you feel

I've learned a lot to become the girl you want to sleep next to every night, and for that i thank the boys who used to love me for their lessons and teachings and letting me become someone worthy.

It's absolutely incredible that something as small and meaningless as i feel my existence to be can find something so incredible as you in my lifetime
You have small galaxies in your eyes, warm light brown surrounded by shiny green where so many great ideas live and breathe and thrive
You have strong shoulders and arms from a sustainable work of lifting and carrying and moving and helping and i cannot help but feel anything but safe wrapped in them
I've known you fully for so long and it's been simply amazing to watch you become the man you are today and i feel so incredibly lucky to take a part of it

I hope you sleep next to me just as you are now for the rest of our lives

I've spent so much time in my own head I'm not sure if I know how to leave anymore

Sometimes I look out the windows and think about the things that could be

Then I turn away and go back to where it's warm and comfortable.

Recently, i cracked the window a little;
the breeze is nice.

I miss the me I was at the peak of my eating disorder. She was worse than me, but more distracted. She had purpose. Talent. Control. She knew how to get through a day and she knew how to stay small. She loved the way her body was changing. Now she is small. Pushed back to the furthest corners of my mind, until I look in a mirror. Then she is quickly hushed. I miss her ideas and her thoughts. But mostly I miss how much I don't remember from being her.

I've wanted to **** myself since I was 12. I don't know when it started or how, but there are many whys. New reasons have come every year, and old reasons have an interesting staying power that you wouldn't really expect. Sure, I forgive. My traumas are not the result of active hate towards me. They are ramifications, small waves from a rock dropped in a pool that gently washed over me and through me, caking salt in the fundamental components of my heart and soul. They are me and they are not me. I've made so much progress, and I have so much to be proud of but I'm not. I try to convince myself I am in conversations with my friends, mother, therapist. You're so eloquent, they say. So introspective. Am I? I'm just lying. I'm only happy when I'm ******, drunk or both. Sometimes I seem okay sober, and sometimes I'm more okay than others. Even when I'm more okay I still want to die. I could be driving down the road listening to my favorite songs and I will still think of five separate things I can do to **** myself. But it seems selfish. My mother has brought me into this life, not exactly intentionally but she raised me the best she could and has a lot of pride in the woman she thinks she's caused. My friends rely on me for support, or even advice on how to help other friends because "they know I've been though this already" as if it's not still happening. I don't want to **** myself. Not really. I want to disappear like ******* Hermione, you know? Just forgotten, no one gets hurt. I'm loved. But it's not enough.

My heart is so full of love but none of it is for me.

I want to create love for myself inside my own heart.

I want to understand I am fundamentally flawed without hating myself for those flaws.

I want to give myself the same benefits I do others.

I want to hold myself to the same standards as I do my friends.

I want to feel good. Whole. But for now i feel empty.

a lot of the emotions I've once felt are nothing but distant memories
small faded parts of me that are hidden deep within,
reignited by specific switches that come in all sorts of shapes and sizes

small faded parts of me tucked away so neatly and carefully
as to forget they were ever a part of me until they are randomly selected to switch on once again.

I've never really been sure who I am or what I'm for, but I know I'm sure I'm going to die one day, and sometimes that's comforting enough.

A man's influence is not one that he himself can fully comprehend
A man's influence is not one easily seen until much, much too late

I don't know what he felt in his last hours and I can't tell you the last time I thought of him before now but I can tell you I am heartbroken in a way I never could have expected

And I'm sure neither did he.