i take to you the way water takes to paper and so does everyone else. you’ve always been that way and you always will be. but that means that sometimes i need you to love me a little louder because it’s all just too quiet. when i’m not too worried about the girl that’ll be sneaking into your room next October, i remember that you’re not responsible for the places my mind wanders during the off hours. and i’m sorry if i ask for too much, but we’ve come to love each other like never before and i think you owe me this much.

we all love in our own way, in the way we can. sometimes that love is loud and bright and WOW WOW WOW. but sometimes its not. its quiet like making that drive. like looking me straight in the eyes. like giving you the left earbud. like mwah mwah let me kiss your neck. and on the days i don’t feel like sinking, i know i should love you better. like stop running. stop your tears. stop your lies. sometimes it'll tell its own lies, the best lies you've ever heard. it loves like contusions and strained voices. like bahama mama blues and my vampire eyes. love like the first time I saw you cry. like a Sunday afternoon, Tuesday night, or Friday morning. love like we have the answers. or maybe we don’t. i mean an unconventional love is better than no love at all.

darling, your eyes have seen far too many of my gloomy hurricane days for you to still be here. i tucked away parts of me in hopes that my wild would go unnoticed but you read me bedtime stories and kiss my best friends. i want to ask you if your calluses hurt. i want to ask you if you hurt at all. i want to make us better. i tried to make you jealous months ago, i tried to move on. i actually kissed him that time, don't you mind? i used to feel like sinking deep into my thinking cave and drowning… but you swam there and coaxed me out, or maybe it was the other way around. now i watch you watching me. we sit in your car and don't drive until we've found what we’re looking for. nights pass like nights do and I think i'm okay with being so in love with you.

we all crave strength. we want to not only feel strong, but to be strong. so this morning, get out of bed. do that thing, face that person. swallow your pride right down and show your strength through humility. put down the bottle and the fists and the phone. hold up your head, show your face, and say something. anything. he is strong and so is she and you and them and ME. we are all so so so so powerful and beautiful and wonderful. believe it, breathe it, see it, repeat.

the point of my last pen bleeds onto another scrap of paper and i wonder how many hours will pass until i don't hurt anymore. until i'll stop bleeding out like this pen. i've got printed photos of you showing a different face from a different time that seem to watch the formation of every word i'm breathing. and honestly i'm wondering how i got here... sewing thoughts together and then ripping them apart.

production and appearance are my worst enemies. exposing the soul is a delicate thing. because my mirrors (and yours) whisper lies just like everybody else. HA. many doe-eyed, naive girls before you have fallen into those untruths and drowned in their weight. and most boys are more insecure than their female counterparts... but no one speaks.

the day that i realized these facts is the day that i began to trust only the words i wrote on paper. the boredom made me write, but now i write to breathe.

emotions stacked neatly beside one another
like the novels on the bookshelves in your best friends room
each tucked away, exactly how she liked them to be
refusing to be opened (felt), for fear of their power
and then he stumbled in
lightly thumbing through the pages of many emotions
seemingly in awe of their beauty
encouraging their existence, giving just enough
only to slam them shut once more
damaging their spines
ripping those delicate and untouched pages
until every book is empty
she found herself shoulder-deep in the pages of past emotions
restocking her shelves (and wishing that paper could ****)

wrinkled t-shirts for dresses and worn in converse
she stopped brushing her hair, wiped off her makeup
because she knew he liked it that way
and she learned to like it that way too
freckled and bare
tangles and knots
reminding her of his effortless beauty
someone told her that beauty fades, but she ignored them
well time was fleeting and so was his love and she found herself clinging to something (someone) that didn't exist anymore
craving what was lost
but ****
he's still beautiful, painfully and viciously beautiful
knots and tangles and tangles and knots
and she misses his hands running through them