It makes me

so sad

to

love you.

There are tears I should have shed for you.
Sometimes I feel them in the backs of my eyelids.
Where I stored them
so long ago
when I lied
and told myself that I would never cry for you again.
Three years in the making
our tragic end
the heartbreak heard around the world.
When I told you I'd stay
but you didn't ask me to.
The one where I packed my bags
and moved across the country
leaving you in the wake
of the storm that had been us.
The torment of fighting for you
of fighting to love and be loved by you
Three years of holding you while you hated yourself
and your life
and everything.
Only to get you through the darkness
and have you throw me back to the wolves
from which you had crawled out of.
Bloodied and broken it was there that I would wait
wait for you to need me again.
wait for it to be convenient to love me again.
Three years of playing your game
of always getting two steps ahead before always falling a lifetime behind.
Waiting for the conditions to be right
and the music to play in tune.
Waiting for the sky to turn
that shade of blue
that it always seemed to be
when we would lie together
and you would trace my tattoos
tell me I was perfection
tell me that I really was loved.
The early morning blue
when everything was silent
except the sound of your breathing
while you finally drifted away from me.
Three years of leaving without saying a word
kissing your cheek while you slept as I got dressed
before leaving without a sound
to drive home alone
and wait until I was worthy enough
to be loved again.
A thousand mornings led to this.
to the morning I left
drove home alone
and didn't wait.
The morning you didn't come after me
where there was no cusak moment.
There was no music.
No breathing.
Nothing that made this worth it.
That morning I took what I had left for you
what was left of the heart I had placed in your hands
dropped it out the window on I-81
as I drove
and drove
and drove until I saw the ocean.
Where I dumped your memories into the sea
stripped off the person you had carelessly made me
swam naked and unattached
as I wept for the years
for the moments
for those mornings.
And when the water had finally washed you away
and I was clean
I took the last of those tears
and placed them in a secret place
deep behind my eyelids
perhaps as a reminder
or perhaps just as a memory
of the three years that I loved you.
Before you let me walk away.

Life is fleeting.

That much we know, right?
We can't see the future
and the past is a filthy liar
that often makes things seem
so much better than they were.
Coated in some fog of nostalgia
that allows us to forget the pain
or disappointment
or even failure.
So where does that leave us?
Right here.
Right now.
But in the tick of my watch hand,
we're suddenly older than we've ever been before
and further away from the moments we shared.
Every second,
those moments get blurrier
until one day they're just there.
And they mean nothing
because they aren't real anymore.
They've been distorted and warped,
mangled by time and space,
anger and loss,
love and longing.
But our story...
Our story doesn't deserve to be watered down,
falsified by years
of wanting a better ending.
Our story deserves to be what it was.

So that's the story I'm going to tell.

I think that maybe I loved you,
in the darkness,
and in the lowlights.

And I think that maybe I held you
in my heart
or in my hands.

I think that maybe I misunderstood
all the little things,
or maybe the big things,
the things of which the size, I couldn’t comprehend.

I misunderstood everything.
Every moment that was spent thinking that I understood the world,
thinking that I understood us.
Who we were,
and where we were going.

Everything was supposed to be black and white.
I expected it
to be black and white.
I tried to avoid all the grey areas where the lines were undefined,
sought to avoid the questions and confusions.

But I couldn’t.

Slowly,
the universe seeped through the eyelids I had attempted to keep forced shut.
Strands of color.
Threads which shot across the darkness,
of my lonely ceiling,
weaving galaxies,
and forming Gods.

I watched all the stories being written
in the form of harlequin dreams.
Surrendered to the kaleidoscopic visions,
of everything I’d originally witnessed in passionless monotint.

Everything became chaotic,
complex,
as I laid there in what was now
nothing more than the remnants of a former perspective.

I think that maybe that was the moment it all made sense.
All the things that didn’t make sense,
all the things that were never meant to make sense.

I became suddenly comfortable with this *******-like perception,
where everything was smeared and splattered together
as an illustration of pure and continuous creation,
providing a canvas for both reason and insanity.

I think that maybe it was then that I loved you
for everything that you weren’t,
and everything that you would never be.

I loved you for all the expectations that weren’t there.
For all the things you didn’t ask about,
and all the secrets I didn’t feel the need to tell you.

It was all clear,
when the lines blurred and the colors mixed.

I think that maybe I loved you
simply because I loved you

Three years ago
my best friend died.

He got too close to the water,
they said,
and they named it "accidental".
And that was that.

I never bought that.
I think he just..
gave up.
I couldn't tell you why,
not an answer
you would accept anyway.
Just a feeling that lives
deep in my soul.
A feeling that tells me
that he knew
what his decision would mean,
and he jumped.

Took all my secrets
and demons with him.
He took
all the things
I'd only ever told him,
and he buried them,
then he left me here.
Without him.

I've never felt that kind of pain before.

I thought
I'd felt it all.
But I was wrong.

That night I sat on my floor,
listening to the same song on repeat.
The tears refused to stop,
along with the shakes,
so I got drunk
and tried not to feel.

But that didn't work either.
So I drank more.
Cried more.
Smoked another cigarette

and I tried to write him down.

But I just stared at the screen.
Blank.
Waiting for words that never came.
I think I thought
that if I wrote it down,
it would be too real.
It would mean that he was really gone,
that there was no going back.
And if it was real,
then I would have to miss him.
I would have to let myself feel that..
And I wasn't ready for that.

So I told myself that
I would wait to write him down,
wait until
I didn't miss him so much.

I would wait until the words came.

But they never came.
No words came.
Eventually
I refused to write at all
until I could write my best friend down,
until I could tell OUR story.

But suddenly,
three years had come and gone,
and I didn't miss him
any less,
and I didn't write
any more stories,
and it didn't change anything.

At all.

i'd wait around
all night
for you to
come around
lay your sweet head down
upon my chest
and breathe with me.
just for a little while.

let me love you.

and i don't think i've ever felt this way
for quite some time...
and i'd let you
i'd let you
sink deeper into me
while you let sleep take over you
and let my heart consume you.

let you love me.

I fell in love with a boy, once.
A boy with brown eyes.
They didn't sparkle.
And they didn't gleam.
They were brown.
Simple, ordinary brown.
And this boy was an ordinary boy.
He didn't speak beautiful words.
He didn't sweep me off my feet,
or sing me love songs.
His kiss didn't send fireworks through my veins.
Nor did his touch make me shake.
He was simply ordinary.
I was never undeniably addicted to him.
Never felt my heart in his hands,
or felt his soul in my chest.
He was what he was.
I was what I was to him.
We were what we were,
at that moment,
when neither one of us wanted to mean something to someone else,
when neither one of us wanted to feel.
We, as we were, were ordinary.
They will never write love stories about us.
And he will quickly forget about me once I am gone.
Because to him, I was ordinary too.
He never dreamt of me.
I was never what he felt he's been missing all this time.
I was just a girl with blue eyes.
Blue eyes that didn't sparkle.
Eyes that he never thought to gleam.
Ordinary blue eyes.
But now and again,
part of me thinks that maybe he fell in love with me too.
Some moments I think that maybe,
well maybe the fact that we didn't say much was okay,
maybe it was okay that we were ordinary.
I always thought I wanted this extraordinary love affair,
filled with this insane, violent, addictive passion.
Where we hated each other,
yet we couldn't survive with the other,
where we couldn't breathe without the other's breath.
I thought I needed someone who would take responsibility
for whether my heart was capable of beating or not.
But then I fell in love with a boy,
a boy with ordinary brown eyes,
who spoke ordinary, quiet words.
A boy who touched me in an ordinary way,
who took ordinary breaths, at even intervals.
I fell in love with a stupid, ordinary boy.