she’s the girl who will remember everything. from your birthday, to the story behind that scar on your left arm, to the number of freckles on your body.

she will love every inch of your body and your soul and even the heart you didn’t know you had.

she will take in everything you have to offer and give you back so much more. so much, that you won’t even know what to do with it.

she will open up the world for you. from books and music and film to things like culture and race and language.

she’s smarter and far more beautiful than she dares herself to show.

and you will love her.

you will love her like you’ve never loved anybody before.

she will level every winter your body has suffered with all the springs her bones have weathered.

and when you go, because you can no longer handle her, she will drown herself in alcohol and drugs and sorrow. and wonder why she wasn’t good enough.

she will refuse to be saved by any other hand because nobody can touch her quite like you.

she will **** herself with loneliness and then resurrect with her own scent.
and then she will do it again.

and again.

and again.

and again.

she will be weak and strong and bold and shy and mean and nice and everything in between.

she will grow. she will grow strong and tall.

and so will you.

and in ten years from now, when you run into her at the supermarket, she will ask about your marriage.

and while you’re there telling her about your wife, who is home with the kids, and your job, she will feel genuinely happy for you.

because she forgave you. she forgave you for walking away and she forgave herself for ever thinking she wasn’t good enough.

she will have realized by then that sometimes life will give you somebody just to watch you break when it takes them away from you.

and she will be okay with it.

and so will you.

but, she will walk away without telling you about her life because she doesn’t want you to hear it in her voice that she still remembers your birthday, and that birthmark on your right shoulder.

and that ten years ago, she had hoped you would run into somebody else and told them all about her being at home with the kids.

isn't it weird how we tell our friends and sometimes our coworkers that they're our family thinking that it's gonna make them feel like they're a part of something? like the word always has a positive connotation. you know..? we say things like, "we're not just friends. we're family." and at graduation ceremonies, you always hear the valedictorian say, "we became a family over the last four years." but that's not always what people wanna hear, you know.. sometimes we overlook the fact that people actually really hate the word and the last thing they wanna hear is someone tell them that they're family. that they hate the expression. sometimes all they need to hear is, "no... we're not family. we're your friends. and the great part about it is -- you get to pick us. you know, choose us. you don't have to settle for.. the violent alcoholics or the annoying siblings. the dumb cousins or the aunt who never minds her business."

I mean, I know people say it to be nice and it's the intention or the feeling behind it that matters. to care for a friend like they're a family member is great if you care for your family, but that's just it... what if you don't care for your family or they don't care for you, you know? having someone tell you you're like family isn't really comforting or pleasant to hear under those circumstances. and if you do have a messed up family, your friends will say, "you found a family in us." and it's like.. no, I don't want one. I want friends. I have a family and it's ****** up. why would I want another one?

...But what compels a person to allow themselves to do something as stupid as to fall in love, is beyond me.

It starts with something as simple as their favorite color, movie, and book.

Next thing you know, you're up at 4 AM smoking their favorite cigarettes just to remind yourself of what they tasted like.

You brew their favorite coffee and know what parts of the book made it their favorite without ever having asked.

You know every note on their favorite song and that the performer has a birthmark on their left cheek.

And you tell yourself you won't listen to any more songs because you don't want to become a genuine fan.

But before you know it, you too are buying concert tickets.

For one.

And smoking squares for fun.

Good morning, doll.
What's up, doll?
Get some rest, doll.
Goodnight, doll.

Good morning, toy.
What's up, toy?
Get some rest, toy.
Goodnight, toy.

Oh, hilarious.
Absolutely hilarious.

Heh.

Let the games begin.

hey.
hi.
are you home?
yeah, what's up?
can you come outside?
uhm, okay.
...
she's okay now.
ya know, just in case you were wondering.
...
that hole you left in her chest feels... whole.
...
clever, huh?
NO.
I refuse to romanticize heartbreak.
it's not okay.
it's not okay for you to walk away as I stand there and watch you while breathing foul air.
it's not okay for you to come back just as the smoke is clearing up and then start a forest fire once again.
it's not okay now and it wasn't okay then.
it was never okay.
and yes, I resent you.
But
...
I don't need a breathing mask anymore.
The flames don't burn.
The smoke doesn't cloud my eyes.
I learned to take the heat.
to embrace the fire.
...
sighing.
...
more sighing.
...
Delete.
Delete.
Delete.
Reply.
...
Goodbye.

...

he­y, that rhymed.