i’ve wanted to be a mystery for as long as I can remember. my whole life, i ached for someone to wonder about me, to need to know more, to write pages of poetry about me, to feel love songs in their body when they saw me. i desired words of love and lust and wonder to describe me. i never understood what i was doing wrong, why i wasn't receiving bundles of pink, heart-shaped valentines full of adoration for me, why i couldn't seem to make anyone curious about who i was. i'd watch others only share small pieces of themselves to capture the hearts of random lovers, and i so wished to do the same. i know that, deep in my core, that's not who i am. my heart is tattooed on my sleeve, and every emotion that goes through my mind appears right across my face. i feel too much, there's no way around it. no one will ever wonder about a girl if you can easily see what she's feeling. i've tried to crush that part of myself, tried to drain my body of all the excess feelings. it refills though, like a river after a drought. the water always returns, most often in storms. the feelings rush into me and make it impossible to mute them. i've come to the conclusion that i will never be a person that a stranger on the bus sees from across the aisles and thinks about for the rest of the day. that those who want to be wanted rarely get that. that i will forever be the one who writes poetry about someone, and it will never be the other way around. it hurts, but i've realized now that no blurry, rushed words about a love for me will ever grace a page in a diary, even if that's the only thing i need.

if you cannot love me
when it’s 11 in the morning
and i am sitting barefaced
cross legged on the floor
my mother’s old t-shirt hanging off my shoulders
papers spread out in front of me
ink stained on my fingertips
a half eaten blueberry muffin in my lap
stress seeping out of me

don’t tell me you love me

if you only love me
when it’s after midnight
and my body is under your sheets
my lingerie is on your nightstand
my mouth tastes like **** and peppermint tea
and all the right words are coming out of it

it’s not love at all

do you ever ache for the feeling when you first meet someone and you just know that they are gonna mean something to you. you can feel in your chest that this person will be important to you. you don’t know for how long but you know that they will be. and then the first time you touch not sexually but when you accidentally graze elbows or you bend your knee so that it falls just barely on his. and you both feel the energy between you and you don’t need to say anything because it’s unspoken it’s unspoken it’s unspoken that you will be someone to that person and you spend hours thinking about those tiny touches and how electric they are. the sound of your name coming out of his mouth sounds like honey and black tea and at night when you lie awake in your bed your mind is flooded with thoughts about him and everything that you might be one day because suddenly the world feels so much bigger and brighter and you just cannot believe that someone this beautiful could exist

because all i can think about is that feeling. my mind replays the first time i spent the night with you. it was 3 am on the last day in november and when i asked you if i could sleepover and you looked at me and said “does it look like i’m gonna let you go?”. you pulled me closer and held me so tight and in that moment i felt myself falling in love with you i really did

but you did let me go and now whenever i hear my name it sounds bitter and harsh and the world feels dark because i know someone that beautiful exists but he doesn’t want to be with me. and that i won’t ever get to relive those first moments with you. you forgot me like i never meant anything to you. and i remember you like you’re still holding on

eventually i got out of the bath. let the bubbles drip down my thigh and pour onto the white tiles. put on that dress you said i looked so good in. the one you couldn’t wait to take off me. brushed the 3- day old knots out of my hair. made myself chicken and rice, the dinner you promised to cook me but never did. held my mothers hand and had that be the only physical intimacy i felt for months. only checked my phone out of necessity, not out of hope that you had called. because you weren’t going to. went to sleep before midnight and didn’t let the image of your hands around someone else’s waist keep me up at night. painted my fingernails light blue and blocked out the memory of you complimenting my nail color in your bed. took myself out on dates and forgot what it felt like to walk arm in arm with you down broadway at 5:30 pm after your class. rode the subway and focused on the book in my lap instead of the thought that the last time i was on M train i was going to see you. i finally got out of the tub and gave myself permission to let you and your promises go.

love should be easy
you said to me

and my mind immediately jumped to laying in your bed at 2 am that november night when we kissed for the first time
sheets tangled between our legs
the tea you made me getting colder by the second on your bedside table

i didn’t care
i just wanted to drink you up
take in all the words you were saying
string your laughter around my neck
memorize the shape of your collarbone
tattoo your lips on my neck

i never wanted to leave that room
secretly hoped you’d wrap me up in your comforter
and never let me go

if i close my eyes
i can still feel the warmth of your hand on mine

and it felt easy

it felt easier with you than it’s ever felt before

but it’s too early and
i’ve been known for feeling too much too soon

so i don’t say that
i don’t say any of it

i don’t tell you that being with you felt so second nature that i never stopped to consider anything else

but i wanted to

my feelings don’t stop
they run and run like water from the faucet
into the bath you prepared for us
and by the time you and I get in the tub
it overflows
lavender scented bubbles coating the white tiles of your floor
I try to clean it up but the ground just gets sticky
and I feel your eyes
bore into the back of my head
as I mop up the leftover bath salts with your faded, yellow towel

another kind act of yours ruined by my worries

i can feel your hand loosening its grip around mine
as we step onto the subway platform
and you don’t grab at my waist
while I make oatmeal in your kitchen
like you used to
back when my bruises were endearing
and I was light and new

but my emotions peek through the cracks
that past lovers left inside of me
the hole my father made in my heart
when I was 8 years old
occasionally shows itself when you ask why
I can no longer drink orange juice in the morning

and when the sun makes it way through the curtains
and shines onto my body
it’s easy to see all the pieces broken inside of me
and suddenly i'm not the dream you thought I was