i watch the smoke curl out from under
my painted lips, and am acutely aware of the
caked lipstick smeared across them,
like an oil painting gone wrong.
getting high wasn’t something girls like me ever did;
drugs just felt too artificial, too ******,
too… irresponsible, for someone who wanted to be the best
in life.

but it seems to be the only thing that rinses away what
i still haven’t managed to forget;
like how you’d delicately caress my lower lip with your teeth.
or how when you’d smile,  the fine lines around your tired eyes
would wrinkle upwards, you’re lips twisting into that stupid,
jagged grin that made me giggle.

i forget the first night we ever spent together,
and how ******* terrified i was at how i was trusting someone
so completely after just four weeks.
and when i rolled over, you were there, smiling –
calm, collected, sleepy –
and whispered across the pillow, “good morning, beautiful.”

(that’s when i fell in love with you.)

i sort of forget how you held your face in your hands,
mumbling how tired you were, and how i would never make it out of
this ******* state.
i sort of forget the annoyance flickering across your face,
how video games became more important than cooking dinner
together,
and how i cried alone in my bathtub,
wishing that i was clutching an empty bottle of pills.

i brush sugar on top of my oil painting lips,
demanding you to kiss me and still tell me that i’m bitter.

i sort of forget how you cried, but i was too
numb to care.
i sort of forget how you told me that you loved me,
but not enough to stay.

when we're laying in bed together,
sharing the darkest parts of ourselves,
i am shaking.
there are things about myself i cannot even face,
and the things about you have me feeling...

the things
about
you
have me so
terrified.


i want to love you but i just don't know if i can.
i want to love you, but i don't know
if i could cope with losing you.


you are always the first one to reach out to hold my hand.
sometimes all i can do is curl into you
and hide from the day, and you welcome me in with open arms
and absent kisses across my temple.
you laugh when i tell jokes and you tell me that i'm beautiful,
sweet, lovely - things i cannot even tell myself -
and i am left disarmed and contemplating and so stupidly happy.


you are half asleep and delusional from *******
when i finally say it.
"i love you so much that it scares me."
you're giggling in the most innocent way, and whisper "why does it scare you?"
and all i can do is smile and give you a kiss.


in the morning when you drive me home, you look at me.
"it scares me, too."


it is a month later.
i can feel your breath caressing my neck,
and it is warm, and soft, and comforting in a way
that i think only you can be.
when i roll over to kiss you, you are half asleep
and the edges of your lips are tilted upwards
in the laziest of smiles.
and in that moment
i am sure.

i.
i’d spent weeks fantasizing about how our first encounter would play out. how i would rise up out of the underground, face tilted upwards, meeting yours excitedly and embracing you wildly the second i reached the top. instead i was at a different terminal and you were at the wrong end of the baggage claim, and when i turned and looked up you were already there. you kissed me hard and after only being with you for three seconds i knew saying goodbye would be the hardest thing i’ve ever had to do.

iii.
i do not have a photographic memory, but there are things i paid special attention to; like the bridge of your nose, how your eyes looked bluer in natural light, the way you’d sort of laugh and say “thank you” whenever you hung up the phone, even if the call was to give you a new errand to run that put you out of the way. how you looked after your sister and how you looked at me when you caught me studying your face. everything you did naturally amazed me.

v.
writing this is making me cry again.

vii.
i knew i was in deep **** whenever your mother tried to pigeonhole me into defining us. i knew i was in even deeper **** when you avoided the question.

ix.
the last night was the worst. i’d had a drink and i was already drunk on you and your hand was down my pants the entire way to your house. your brother was home so we went back to the car and made out in the backseat while i cried. when you pulled over and wordlessly walked me out into the rain in a dark park i was cold but i didn’t question it and i certainly didn’t have the air to question it when you picked me up and kissed me, hard. “your trip wouldn’t be complete without making out in the rain,” you explain, and i can’t help but laugh.

iix.
when the plane takes off, i look out over the city, watching as all the little bright bits and pieces become enveloped in clouds. i miss you already.

my body is so weary.
gentle thuds accompany each step i take,
and it is not romantic.
i am bending under the weight of
my love for you, and i'm terrified,
that if i fall,
i will not be able to save myself.

sometimes i wonder if we ever step outside at the same time,
look up into the same sky,
and inhale the same first signs of autumn at the same time,
200 miles and too many missed phone calls away.

during those delicious first few months, your touch
was like a bomb against my skin – blowing away my hard exterior,
opening me up to a life lit with emotional confessions
in hotel bathtubs and the occasional good morning kiss.

your touch now feels a little too nuclear.
i can feel the effects of the poison in the way i view the world,
because i can’t seem to look up in a classroom without
wondering if you might be there.
it feels more sadistic than poignant.

sometimes i wonder if you miss me, if you regret anything you said -
like how i was too feminist, or how i was too heartless,
or how you criticized my outfits rather than telling me i’m beautiful,
and how even in those last few moments we had together,
you tried to pin me inside your box of expectations.

sometimes, i ******* hope i bombed you, too.