I guess it's selfish of me to wish you were unhappy,
because sometimes, I just wish you were by my side.
I ask myself how its possible to miss someone who was never
yours to begin with. I ask myself how my heart can hurt so much for someone who never wanted it in the first place and ******* it,
it makes feel so foolish to be sitting here, sipping on whiskey neat as the ocean passes me by. Because I will always be an ocean away from you, and you will be seated at that bar, giving your heart to another.

I will always be an ocean.
You a life boat trying to get to shore.
I, stormy waves bringing destruction to those who I love, and you
there to pick up the pieces.

There is no metaphor here. The truth of the matter is, I can sit here and pretend you were the only one at fault, when truthfully,
I did more damage than you. My fear of losing something I never truly had, destroyed a friendship on the cusp of creation and my spite destroyed every relationship with loved ones either of us could have had. I hate myself everyday.

As much as I want to be the good person who tells our friends they can still see you, I hate when they show you kindness and for what?
I ****** up too and realizing that was harder than losing you.

I hadn’t thought of you in years.

To be honest, I put you away in the box of memories of people I simply longer cared for, put the hurt into the deepest part of my soul and laughed the anger away while my best friend and I made plans for matching bathing suits and making lemonades for another summer barbecue we could fondly look back on. It was 3 am and the guy you told me I wasn’t allowed to be friends with, was laughing with me outside of a Taco Bell I knew you hated going to. We were talking about the letter your ex wrote him and I suddenly remember how much you hated your ex.
But *******, if you two weren’t meant for each other.
I mean, you are basically the same person, same narcissistic, view, same letters where you blamed others when you should have seen what was in front you.  It was through laughing, I realized, I don’t miss, I never missed you to begin with. The day you told me I was a bad friend, a bad person, a person who moved mountains for you and was crushed under the weight, I realized, you gave me the freedom was looking for. I was heart broken at first, but then I realized friendships aren’t made from how many years you have known someone, they are made from meeting someone and feeling like you knew them a lifetime. Friendships are unconditional love and respect, something I hadn’t felt the first time you insulted me. I guess what I’m trying to say is, enjoy my Instagram, it’s public and I know you still talk **** about me cause that's just the kind of bitter lemon you are, the kind people leave behind at the Farmer’s Market.

We're almost touching.
we were walking side by side,
you're talking about cabs in your hometown.
I can feel the gravity of your hand, calling my fingers
whispering "it's alright."

We're touching but not quite.
you held my shoulder to protect me from the passing cars.
and for the first time in a long while, I felt so fragile.
In this world where I find it hard even to breathe,
you believed me.

I almost said it.
All I need is one ounce of strength to tell you every single thing that I have ever felt about you.

I want to find home in your collarbones.
Would you be kind enough to let a stranger in?
I want to seep in your being because I'm cold.
The world is harsh and my cracks are aching.

Almost.

I hadn’t thought of my first boyfriend in years.
The way everything was new and he never felt silly when I asked him to dance in the  rain, even though I felt silly. The way he knew I loved when his cologne lingered on my clothes because I crawled into a space between his arm and his body.
I remember crying in the diner by my house late at night,
we were just friends, two years after we broke up but he always made me feel a warm sort of comfort, he always made me laugh when I was mad and he always managed to make me mad on my best of weeks. He was scared of going up to Georgia alone. I, naively confused, asked why would he go to Georgia alone. When I repeated the word army, it left a bitter taste on my mouth, did’t quite roll off the tongue like home. Like our small, loud city was home. Like when he biked to my house in the rain was home. Like going to the Colombian Bakery where worked, was home. Like he was home.
Except, my home was leaving, and when he asked me to go,
I cried, held onto him and said no, said I have a boyfriend who doesn’t love me like home does and my life is just starting.
That was 8 years ago. I’m 23 now. Made the same mistakes repeatedly. Changed my entire life and started over. Reinvented myself every time I rented the heart of a man who was not home. My home lives in Honolulu, has traveled the world, changed into a man who still has that wide smile I loved. My co-worker mentioned how certain smells remind her of certain people and asked if I agreed. I hadn’t thought of that boy, whose Kenneth Cole Reaction still lingers on my old high school uniform, in years. Told her certain smells remind me of a place I always found comfort in. I wonder if he knows he will always have a home here, always have a place to stay in my heart. I will leave the door open and when he picks up to leave again, I will say you are always welcome here, to this little corner of the world, where nothing exciting ever happened, but you will always be loved.

I will not set myself on my fire
for people who would not show me  the
fierce passion I have for them.
I have worth that goes beyond drunk
Wednesday nights.  I have expanded myself to fit
forgotten conversations and men who do not love me.
But this heart fits the nights I saw my mother’s heart break,
the afternoons I held my crying friends, the laughter shared
on rainy days, sad dog videos on youtube, love for a child I did not have, an ache for the heartbroken girl who was also wronged by the same man and still there was room for you to tear open the safe haven for people who deserve it far more than you. I will never be angry at her. I take thread and patch up the hole so she can be warm and safe within my heart. She who was full of life, whose expressive face made everyone feel included, who hugged me after meeting me once and said we are friends. And still I slept with you and still, I believed her the villain when the villains were us.
She may hate me but **** it, I am angry for her.
We laid in the same bed, miles apart, felt the same ache, formed a kinship and both felt sorry for your new girl . Tell her she has a place in my heart too when you break her. Tell the one after her, she is welcomed here too. There is a safe space outside of you. We do not need to expand ourselves to accommodate you. You who would not expand for anyone but yourself.

Your ex sent me a video on snapchat at 3 am.
She was drunk and she was talking about how you asked if you could get back together with her. She had a lot to say about how ******* but she wished you the best.
So here’s my two cents.
******* and the horse you came riding in.
**** your apologies and **** your “I’m getting better.”
Because at the end of the day, you, my friend, yes you, are
a ******* *******. I admire the **** out of her for wishing you the best, but even though, the whole time we were together, you thought I was her, I’m not. So here I am telling you
that I hope you get a flat tire. I hope you order pizza with extra cheese, and they sent you light cheese.  May your soda be always flat. I hope you have to get somewhere and end up in traffic. I hope you walk out onto the street and step on gum,
and step on dog ****. I hope you go to pay for drinks with tinder girl and your card gets declined. I hope you’re talking on the phone and you phone gets cut. I hope you get a bad haircut. I hope you’re late to work. May your music forever buffer and your youtube videos never load. I wish you were a girl and had a pregnancy scare, alone, in a McDonald’s bathroom like I did (even though I know you’re a guy). I hope someone breaks your heart. At this point, with all the shattered pieces you have left behind, you ******* deserve it.
I hope your ex finds her peace. I hope she dates a hot, 6’5 guy with light eyes and a great sense of humor. I hope you feel it right before going to sleep, the pain in your chest. The same one I felt for months after the wreck happened. The same way she felt it when you wrecked her heart. I hope you go **** yourself.

Today, I was thinking about yesterday
as I do everyday. I remember how yesterday,
you slept in my bed, after we spoke about the past,
and how just yesterday, I loved you more than I loved myself.
Yesterday, I wrote a passage in my journal about how
this guy who had the perfect smile and the sad eyes
had turned my life upside down. Yesterday, you turned
eating nachos and drinking beer into poetry and sighed with content as you turned me into a night about forgetting her.
Yesterday, you told me I was living a daydream in the form of
“I can’t give you what you want.”
I said, “Thats fine.”
You said, “I know you love me, but I just can’t.”
Yesterday, you came over drunk and took care of you.
Yesterday, you ****** me, and I gave you all my love.
Yesterday, I chose to walk away from you.
When I woke up this morning, I cried for the first time in a long time. The morning was rough. Every morning since yesterday has been rough.