he told me he loved me, did you know that? weeks ago . . . and i've been thinking about saying it back for days, but every time -- every ******* time -- i think about it, there you are. with your stupid name and your stupid self and ******* i loved you, you know that? i loved you so much that the thought of saying it to anyone else physically hurts. it feels like it'd be physically impossible to get the words out. two years down the road and here i am, tongue-tied in front of a boy you don't even know, screaming at my memories of you for not being able to catch me.

i don't want to meet you in a coffee shop several years from now, when i've undoubtedly put on weight and still lost half my hair to the e.d. when i starve for a week or bend over the toilet because i finally cracked i'm not thinking of  several years from now. i'm thinking about a year from now. i'm thinking about three months. two. one. next week, tomorrow, yesterday. i'm thinking about hopping on a plane, or a bus, or just ******* walking until i reach you. until i can show you, show you what you've done to me and show you the brilliance of it all. no, the insanity of it all. the way my skin stretches over my thighs like tiger stripes and the little ridges on my fingernails from not getting enough calcium. all for you. i want to show you what i've done for you, no, what you did to me -- is there a difference? i doubt it makes a difference when you've become the ******* voice in my head.

i just want to be beautiful enough for you. right now.

you are made of lines;
straight, or curved
sometimes
                even
parabolic.

I imagine him so                perfectly          without       -       me that when he's       w i t h me       -      I don't even recognize him.

I blatantly tell
god I hate him
i really don't
want to be talking
to you right now
but I still cry over
scriptures from
Galatians.

your mom's number
showed up under a different
name in my snapchat contacts
and it was so silly---I felt something
slip away against me, lingering for
a moment as if that were goodbye
enough, but nothing is or ever has
been goodbye enough for you
with me for you, with me,
for you, for you. and I
wondered if you would
even let me know that you
got a new number or if
I'd text you one day and
someone else would respond
This isn't, chris, you have the wrong number
for how long would I have had the wrong number?
Maybe
all
along.