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Makala Nov 2014
// Jan 17th, 3:57am //
  I just wanna hold you.

// Jan 17th, 8:38pm //
  Can I have you forever?

// Jan 18th, 9:01pm //
   Really, I just want to hold your hand and run around like stupid idiots together, not caring about what other people think.

// Jan 19th, 9:49pm //
  You're all I care about anymore.
// Jan 19th, 10:56pm //
  I knew I loved you the second I put eyes on you.

// Jan 19th, 11:00pm //
   Babe, can we run away together? Just get rid of all the bad things an have it just me and you, forever?

// Jan 20th, 3:20am //
  But I love you. Right now, if I could, I would tell the whole world that I love you. I love you with all of my heart babe.

// Jan 20th, 3:45am //
   I love you so ******* much.

// Feb 22, 7:47pm //
   Baby, you're perfect and beautiful just the way you are. You make me feel like the luckiest man in the world. I love you. Don't you ever forget it.
I found my old journal and came across all of these texts you would send me, well, it's safe to say that you don't love me anymore.
Makala Oct 2014
You were the first boy to ever tell me I was beautiful. We stayed up all night together until it was physically impossible to keep our eyes open any longer. You were always high on drugs. I was always high on your voice.

You and I were so innocent. It was a never ending lust. Both of us craved one another, but never said a word about it. After I was gone you told me you loved me. I apologized.

I hate beer, but I drank it so I could have a good time. I kissed you hard.

You tasted like strawberry flavored gum and cheap *****. I was on painkillers and you were drunk. We were never sober when we talked. I knew you were only using me for company, but I still felt the world when I was with you.

You picked me up at midnight to go to a lame party, we drank together the whole ride there. After three shots your arm was around me. You were bad news, but I loved every part of it. I don't remember much from that night, but when I woke up the next morning, your arms were still around me.
Makala Oct 2014
you were the only boy i let close enough to see the blue beauty mark that’s on my left cheek.
you were the only boy i let ******* cherry flavored chapstick that i used to smother all over my lips. (i can't even use it anymore because of you)
you were the only boy i let close enough to see the scars that are drawn across my body in places that people could only see if they cared enough to.
you were the only boy that told me that there were entire worlds hidden in my eyes, that aphrodite, venus, and achlys were nothing compared to me.
and i was so stupid to think that all of these sweet nothings were true.
ever since you left it feels like the lilac sky that used to hover over us has turned into a deep purple, green and blue kind of sky that only comes right before a storm starts.
ever since you left i haven’t been able to listen to the songs that once were my salvation because when I hear them I can only think of your face. the face that has put me through hell, but that same ******* face that made me feel like I was on top of the world.
and even though it’s so ****** up of me to say this, but if you showed up at my door right now saying sorry for making me feel like a black hole that was collapsing in my lungs,
for making me feel so numb that the only thing i can feel was my heart beating faster than the first time you held me.
i would still open my arms and blossom like a flower for you.
you're my weakness.
a writing from the past
Makala Feb 2014
The diagnosis is love but it feels more like dying.
You’re under my skin now. I should’ve kept my distance,
but you were an exploding star and I’ve always had
a soft spot for hopeless things.

You, the smoke filling my lungs and the shrapnel
embedded between bones and blood vessels.
You took my body over like a cancer. A silent killer.
First the eyes, when I saw the black hole in you that
wanted to swallow my light.

Then my brain. You infected every neuron with this thing
called hope, like maybe I could love you. Like we could fill each
other and stop feeling so empty. By the time it spread to my
heart, my body felt ready for the morgue.

I’m killing myself with loving you. And I know it sounds crazy,
but pretty much anything can make sense if you love
someone enough. There is a lesson here. Now I know why
they tell you not to look down from tall heights.

Falling to your death must seem so romantic from a
rooftop right under the stars. We don’t build skyscrapers
to get close to God, we build them to remind us that the
only difference between living and dying is gravity.

Does it make sense to say that life is a burning building
and we’re all trying to find the fastest way out? Racing to throw
ourselves out of windows and forgetting to grow wings
for the way down.

I have a sixth sense about these things.
You tasted like disaster the first time we kissed, a little bit
like a dangerous tragedy. But I didn’t think you’d be the death of me.
I couldn’t get you out of my system if I tried, but I’m not trying.

Virus of the heart. You are rusting in my bloodstream,
inventing sicknesses my body does not understand
how to fight. There are worse things, I suppose,
to die for than love.
Makala Jan 2014
Sorry I fail at communicating.
    Sometimes I get nervous when I talk; my words don't always come out right.
Sorry about the thing I said.
     I promise it didn't sound that way in my head; I'm trying to get better at that, I promise.
Sorry I'm bad at having conversations.
     I care a lot about what you think of me. Sometimes I get scared that I'll say something wrong, so I won't say anything at all. This is one of those times.
Sorry I don't speak a lot.
      I'm really interested in what you're talking about, I just can't think of things to say right now.
  Some toddlers can hold conversations better than I can.
  Thanks for putting up with me anyway.
Revised post. I found this on tumblr; I related to it completely. It didn't give credit to who wrote it, but everything on here is something I struggle with day to day.
Makala Dec 2013
I became accustomed to the simple life. To the way that boys liked it when I ran my fingers through their hair and toyed with their belts. The way that coffee tasted dull without sugar, and the way that the newspaper was always delivered at three minutes past seven. Doorbells all had the same melody and I was required to tip the waiter seventeen percent of the bill.
       And that's why you scared me. Because complexity followed you like the smoky tail of a cigarette, always near and entirely ungraspable. I couldn't see you as simple, and I was frightened yet intrigued by the way that you reminded me of the ocean; swallowing both the moon and the sun in the same day.
Makala Dec 2013
when someone says
they want to get to know you
make sure to tell them how
you're named after a character in your moms favorite book
that your favorite color is vibrant red
or that you spend your free time sitting at the pier
but make sure you don't say
that when people call your name
it sounds like they are addressing a stranger
because there's been a graveyard
growing inside you
since age twelve
and that you spend a lot of time
deciding what the date
on your headstone will be
and don't explain
that you love vibrant red because
it's the color of relief
when it's dripping down your wrist
and don't let them know
that when you sit on the pier
you daydream of tying rocks to your ankles
and going for a swim
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