A perfect Mommy, a perfect Daddy
A perfect daughter, a perfect life,
A perfect world to exist in, eclipsed by consummate sight.

She was my sun, a seraphic voice  
bathing me in warm light,
And he was my moon, watchful eyes
protecting me from the darkness of night.

Two halves of my whole heart, their blood flowing through
my spirited veins.
Two halves of my whole mind, their thoughts crashing through  
my synthetic brain.  

Perfection is their sweetest lie, proclaimed by selfish mouths uttering
vain whispers after bedtime.  
"I can't live without you. You can't leave me. I know we can survive this."
But survival is intangible against an affliction of the soul.  
  
Imperfection is my harshest truth, comprehended by grieving eyes seeing raw memories before sleep.  
"I can't live without you. You can't leave me. I know you can survive this."
But even a human's profound devotion can be turned away by their Creator,  
just as a pleading child can be deserted by their mother and father.  

And that is the largest betrayal of them all.  

But to remain, to endure against hate's control, against fate, would be an immediate death.  
To try and withstand their sickness and deterioration would be suicide.  

And I have realized that I do not want to die.  

Loss is my most unbearable pain, undeniably clouded by her beautiful smile and his comforting resemblance.

She used to sing her child to sleep, and now, she is singing to her one last time. At the door, he is watching and keeping them both safe.  

They will both leave and never come back, but the memories will remain. The happiness will always be there for recollection.

But for now, it is time to sleep and forget.

She caresses her child's hair and kisses her forehead lovingly, getting up and walking to join him at the doorway.  

The silhouettes of their mournful faces seem like a cryptic dream.  

"Goodnight, Gigi. We love you very much."
"Mom? Dad?"
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"I can live without you. You can leave me. I know I can survive this."
*"We know."

I think trauma is a strange word.
I was probably twelve or thirteen when I first heard it - oh yeah, it's when you get really hurt, right?

Blood and guts everywhere.

Thank goodness that doctors exist.
They can patch you up and make you whole again.

"Incoming trauma! All hands on deck!"

I think it's a strange word because, supposedly, trauma is what happened to me. But that can't be right, can it?

I imagine myself being rolled into a hospital on a stretcher, doctors and nurses taking me from paramedics.

"Eighteen year old female suffering from internal cardiovascular and neuro injuries. Speech and sight is impaired."

I'm okay. What are you talking about? All I did was love two people.

"Injuries are consistent with loving parents that don't love you in return."

Wait, what? No, my parents love me!

My dad likes to drink sometimes but at least he doesn't act unpredictable anymore when I suggest he go to bed.

Well, there was that one time he fell down the stairs. Also the time he peed on me while I was sleeping because he believed my room was the bathroom.

But my mom is okay! She likes to leave a lot and there were those times she had loud *** with strangers in the room next to mine late at night. But she's good, I swear. Even when she had chlamydia and I held her while she cried.

Even when she left and never came back.

"I need a crash cart in here! Patient is bleeding out and her blood pressure is dropping - "

I'm fine, I swear.
All I did was love them.

Wait, hang on!
What about that time my parents argued and my dad tried to choke my mom to death?
I mean...I did run away from the house, crying, to find our neighbor.
I did beg her to call the police.

But that's not trauma, right?
I just wanted them to stop yelling. I just wanted him to let her go before she stopped breathing.

That's love.

"Paddles, please! Charge to three hundred..."
"Clear!"

These doctors really don't know anything.

You left a long time ago -
the most beautiful part of my life ended and I was left in the shadow of a scorching sun,
in the embrace of an unforgiving ground,
in the care of a love that was no longer an oasis.

You left last night -
the sky became dark,
the ground turned cold,
and my love burned out.

All I wanted was for you to stay and if that was too much to ask for, then I just wanted to feel your heart one last time. Just one last time.

I've been in the ground for years but everything still comes back to you -
the rain has come and it's beckoning me. Come out. The sun is no longer around. It isn't cold. Rather, it is a warm night.

The rain is heavy and persistent but it only wants one thing. It wants to look for you. So what will I do? What can I do?

I'll let the rain wash me away, away, away...
and maybe it will lead me back to the ocean. Back to you.

In the land of the dead, there is a little girl who remains bare from the inside out -
a little girl who knows nothing but a black rose that remains gripped in her tiny hand.

A black rose that cuts into her palm and spills blood on the bare ground -
drip, drip, drip - losing something that is already gone.
It's a flower that you can only find in the land of the dead, among spirits that know terrible things yet give black roses to little girls.

The little girl has found herself here - eternally lost and young for only a split second of time - but this can be home.
She has seen terrible things, too -
but there are worse things than finding yourself with a black rose.

When I speak of words that can make you believe you are nothing, of hands that hold you so tight you can't breathe, of eyes that are always there when you lay in bed at night -
I hope you don't understand what I'm talking about.

When I stand in the shower for two hours and look at the scars on my body, at the fine lines that will remain there until the end of time -
I hope you don't understand what I'm thinking about.

When I'm sitting in the passenger seat while you drive and staring at the people and places that pass us by, at the mother and father holding their child's hand while they walk down the pavement -
I hope you don't understand why I need to hold your hand for the rest of the trip.

When we're facing each other in bed, hearts beating together, and you rest a heavy hand on my face and whisper I love you -
I hope you understand why I can only answer with tears.

There are variations in the way we enter this world, and how we come to understand what love is.
When you're born from tragedy, tragedy is the only thing you'll learn to love.

Does he really love you if he doesn't make you cry or turn away when you want to hold him?
Does she really love you if she doesn't leave in the middle of the night and never return in the morning?
Do they really love you if they don't force you to realize that you are all alone in this world, belonging to no one, and on your last few breaths?

Tragedy has a face, and it's a beautiful one.
It's worth falling in love with - it's a face that you'll see behind your eyelids regardless if the moon or the sun is outside your window.

It's a face that has brown eyes that can't seem to stop crying -
eyes that can't believe what they're witnessing.
It's a face with a parted mouth that can't seem to speak -
but if it could, its voice would resemble something close to broken glass.

Tragedy has a face that looks like mine -
and hasn't it been said that I'm supposed to love myself, to fall in love with who I am in order to heal?

I'll hold my face in my hands and try to stop crying,
to close my mouth and not allow anymore broken pleas to escape.
Tragedy is me and she's the only thing that will ever love me in return.

And one day you'll wake up with a heavy weight pressed to your back -
with the sound of rain and someone else's breath keeping you company,
you'll blink away nonexistent tears from your eyes and wonder where you are.

You won't know now but you'll understand later -
this is where you are meant to be.
Meant to be is tucked safe and sound in the arms of your lover -
with rain washing away all of the bad things in the night.
Things that you won't remember when you wake up again in the morning.

But for now -
have the courage to keep sleeping alone -
because there is someone else out there who is fighting to stay strong, too.
Fighting to find their way back to you.

Little girl, I am crying for you. You should be living a life full of love - a life protected by good hearts.

Big girl, I am crying for you. You should not be crying alone in bed at night - someone should be there to hold you when you are sad.

Mom, I am crying for you. Your heart should not be breaking for me - I want to be with you always. I am with you always, but we are also too far apart.

Sister, I am crying for you. I haven't done the best that I could and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please take my apology in the darkness.
I will try to bring the light back to you.

Our sweet mother, taken away so soon -
gasping for breath as the heavy weight of perfection sat on her chest.
Even in death, she is perfect -
used to her full potential by many men seeking warmth but not love.

No, never love.

These men nestled inside her and made her full - full of life but not the kind that makes you love yourself when looking in the mirror.

The type of life they filled her up with was the kind that nearly killed her in the delivery room - crying out as she was ripped apart and her child was taken by strange hands. Hands of men.

These men ****** her and ****** her and ****** her until the last drop of life she had left disappeared from her eyes.
These men are the ones who look into her coffin and murmur, she was so beautiful.
So perfect.

She died knowing she was not beautiful, could never be beautiful. Beautiful was a word uttered from men's ***** mouths, a word that had been tainted unknowingly.

She died gasping for breath, needing to say those words before she left this world. Needing to say it, needing to say it, needing to say it...
I am not beautiful.

Here lies love,
our mother who will never be beautiful or perfect for as long as I am breathing in this world.
Here lies death,
our real mother who was always more than beautiful. More than perfect.

There's not a single word to describe what she really was. But never beautiful.
No, never perfect.

i see her standing there -
and i'm wondering when she
will come inside.

it's below forty outside -
and the tears have frozen to her cheeks
and i can tell that she's becoming numb.

when will she come inside?
i wish she would -
so that i may wrap a blanket around her shoulders
and give her something hot to drink
and let the tears melt down her face.

i wish she would come inside.
but her and i both know better,
than to believe that we have any control -

over
this.
this.
this.
these feelings, i should say.

she'll come back inside -
when the feelings pass
when it's safe again
when i'm me again
when the world is righted on its axis.

There are two pairs of shoes by the door -
one pair is clean and the other is covered in leaves and mud.
There are two voices in the kitchen -
one is singing and the other is laughing.
Both are tinged with tender love and adorned with happiness.

There are two pairs of socked feet going up the staircase -
one is confident in their stride and the other is stumbling with drunkenness.

Drunk on love, of course.

There's one voice that can be heard in the darkness of the bedroom -
a voice that says something along the lines of, You look beautiful.

There's a shy laugh. As always, the second voice will follow. You can't even see me.

Both voices will become one when they breathe into each other, disappear into one another. There won't be anything in the world that can distinguish them. They've always been the same, after all.

I find it hard to decide -
if our tragedy is defined by loving each other or by not loving at all.

Would life have been any different if I had not felt my heart collapse within my chest, or watched you leave a hundred times over?
I don't think anything would have changed at all -
because in the end, you are always gone.

That is something that will never change,
no matter what lies my heart tries to tell itself. You are gone.

I don't feel any pity for my heart when it's tucked into a dark corner,
barely alive on its last few beats. It's abandoned and I can hear it shedding tears from across the room.

Come back, it cries.
It has the face of a little girl and her brown eyes are wet, long lashes dripping with memories. They splatter on the floor and become nothing in an instant.

She's clutching her hands against her chest -
such a tight grip for small, shaky hands. I don't feel any pity. I don't.
There's nothing I can do for her. Nothing at all.

Come back! she screams. She's too weak to crawl, too tired to run.

She stops beating within me the moment she whispers, please. Her dead body is left, untouched, in that dark corner where it'll never be found.
There's nothing I can do for her. Nothing at all.

The biggest tragedy, I've come to realize, is not the fact that you left me so many times. It's how slowly the realization of your loss crept into me when I wasn't looking, wasn't paying attention, wasn't thinking of you.

You made me leave myself and now I'm left with nothing at all.

you're sleeping as i write this
dreaming gentle things
your bottom lip, pouting
the last thing i want to do is wake you -
and mess all of this up

i haven't told you that i love you
i'm sure that's what i feel, but the words
themselves
feel
meaningless

i love how you look when you're sleeping
i love your bed head -
straw-colored hair having a mind of its own
i love the gentle rise of your chest -
tempting me to come over and listen to your heart's voice
i love your big dumb feet sticking out from underneath the blanket -
probably deathly cold but still belonging to you

i love this boy in my bed
dreaming gentle things -
being a gentle thing himself

I will rip, rip, rip, you apart.
Shreds of your skin, dangling from my ****** hand -
red velvet spreading slowly across the floor and drip, drip, dripping ever so slowly.

You took your last breath moments ago, but I hold it in my opposite hand - I can feel it trapped in your windpipe. A warm murmur, a sad stirring of hope that believes it's honestly going to go somewhere. It's not.

I will rip that breath out of your throat the same way I took claim of your heart - raw flesh sticking to my fingertips and hot blood coursing down my arms. So messy. You're so ******* messy.

When I'm done taking back what is mine, I'll burn whatever remains of your body. Your love. Your hate. Your foolishness. And - I'll stand over the flames and laugh, laugh, laugh with your heart and your voice in my hands.

Mine - forever.

There's a large whirlpool in my dreams -
I sit at the top of a cliff and watch everything in the water
go around and around until it disappears.

What's in the water?

Well, there's only one thing. They're memories.
Memories of us in Paris, Rome, New Mexico, our bed.
Memories of you laughing so hard until you beg me to stop talking.
Memories of him dancing and singing until we all beg him to stop embarrassing us.
Memories of me in between you two, happy, as you both talk over me when you think I'm asleep.

You are asleep. You've been sleeping for a long time.

Have I? That can't be right. All of this didn't feel like a dream.

It was. All of it. I'm sorry you had to find out this way.

The whirlpool seems to be forever -
the memories are endless and all I can do is look down, watching them go away one by one.  

No, this isn't right at all. None of this was fake. It wasn't a dream.

Yes, it was. You need to accept it and let go.

No.
Standing up, I take a look around. I take a step closer to the edge.
Right there. I can see it towards the center.

There's a memory in the water, barely visible.

It's a child standing in a desert, crying out as the people she loves most in this world leave her. The car kicks up dust and the sun beats down on her when she chases after it, finally falling to the ground in defeat.

"Mommy! Daddy! It's me!"

That's the dream. That's what I should be going after.
It's been hiding among love. In between bed sheets and music and laughter.

You're making a mistake. It's just another memory.

No, it's not just another memory. Far from it. It's the truth and I'm going to follow it. I should have followed it a long time ago.

I take another step closer to the edge. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. In and out. Within and without.

When I open my eyes, I jump into the whirlpool.

It's beginning to rain outside -
I left my window open just in case you wanted to visit me when I fall asleep.

You see, souls are susceptible to flying away when they're sleeping.

It's not a bad thing, per se, but there are those times when we find ourselves in certain astral planes that have never been visited before.

There are peculiar creatures that lurk there - creatures that will look at your soul in curiosity before following it.

We should take precaution of those astral planes. Stay away from them.

Instead, come to my window when the moon has been shielded by heavy clouds.

Come into my room when the rest of the world is asleep and the only sound that can be heard is rainfall.

My soul will be awake, waiting for you.

Father, don't go.
Mother, don't go.
Lover, don't go.

The moment he stopped looking at me as if I was something precious was not the moment my heart broke.

The moment she stopped waking me from sleep with a kiss to my forehead was not the moment my heart broke.

No, neither of these were the moment. I did break, yes, but I continued to move forward in increments.

When I gazed into the mirror and didn't recognize the face looking at back at me...

That was the moment.
I stroked a hand across the glass, touching the stranger's skin.
But that's all she was to me. A stranger.

he calls me on the phone,
says he's leaving in a few days.

what's new?

the tears that threaten to escape me aren't new,
my clenched fist isn't new,
my picked, bleeding lower lip isn't new.

you've always left me, dad.
even when you said you were coming back,
even when you said it wouldn't be for too long,
even when you said you loved me more than anything.

your actions betray your words -
the silver shavings in your hair betray the test of time -
the wrinkles around your eyes betray the man i used to take you for.

i hate this time of year -
because all i want to do is hold your face in my hands -
and feel the skin that belongs to me -
and look into the brown eyes that belong to you -
and i want to tell you -
how much, how much, how much i love you.

how much i love you -
despite the hurt -
despite your absence -
despite you being a man that doesn't know he has a child that loves him so much.

i still love you, dad. i'll be waiting for you to come home.

I've been standing at the edge of the ocean for a long time -
watching the crystalline waves when they come close and yearn to touch my skin.

Just like how I want to touch yours.

There's been a thousand sunrises and a thousand sunsets -
after a lifetime or two, they don't really matter anymore.

I remember the way you looked when you left -
although your back was turned towards me,
I felt each tear when it bled across your face.

When you looked into the horizon and silently begged
for the courage to go, I felt it through each chamber of my heart.

Seeing is believing, they say.
I don't really believe you wanted to go.

It's been three years since you left,
three years of not hearing you in the kitchen on Sunday mornings,
three years of not seeing you sitting on a bed while you fold clothes,
three years of blowing out candles on a birthday cake without you around.

You left.
I can't make it any simpler than that.

It's been three years since I left, too.
You took something with you - a part of me that I didn't realize I had.
Three years of laying in bed and staring at a wall,
three years of going to therapy and speaking to a woman who can't be you.

You left.
It can't be more complicated than that.

Three years is a long time, did you know?
It's a long time without you,
I still wake up in the morning and think you're here.

Maybe it's because you left in the middle of the night, right before I fell asleep. You left in the most painful way - speaking in my ear, holding me.

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Gigi.

You kept gripping my arm while you cried. It hurt and I'm not speaking about my arm.
Something within - that part of me you took.

You ripped it from me and took it with you into the night,
I want it back, please. That part of me was the
Me that loved you.

It was the better part of me,
the Me that wanted to breathe.

I don't want to breathe anymore.

What do you do when the best part of you crumbles,
tears itself to shreds,
slams its palms on the table and says no more?

What do you do when you find yourself begging that piece of you to stay,
to please don't leave, I need you so I can breathe?

What do you do when that shard of you looks you in the eye,
presents you with a gaze that is nothing less of indifference,
and murmurs who are you?

You won't know what to say -
because the best part of me was always you,
and you have chosen to leave me over and over again.

They ask me a question.
What are we without love?

I am this. In this moment, I am not love.

Have you ever seen the aftermath of a plane crash?
The plane simply becomes an empty shell and bodies are strewn across the earth. There are no heaving lungs, no crying eyes, no twitching fingers.

Every living thing is dead. That's what I am.

Don't ever let anyone fool you into believing that you can't be dead in this life. You can and you will be.
There will be a moment when no heart pulses behind your ribs, no tears are left, and your hands feel nothing tangible.

It will only be you and the ground. You'll look up into the sky and maybe, just maybe, ask a question.

"What are we without love?"

This is that moment. Close your eyes and feel all of it.

Over the years, I've had a reoccurring dream that makes me startle awake in the middle of the night -
that makes my heart pound faster than the beat of a Shaman's drum.

In my dream, I am underwater.
I've never been a particularly good swimmer in life, but in my dream, I float effortlessly under dark waves. Everything is dark, perhaps it's nighttime above the surface.
Most of all, I am scared.

Wherever I turn my head, I see nothing but darkness. I look down and see an abyss. I look up and see the possibility of escaping, but my heavy body can't move.
I'm suspended in space - looking to my left and my right, extremely aware that something is coming and I cannot see it.

I don't know what it is but I am deeply afraid. I can't get away, can't swim to the surface, and cannot see anything. It's getting closer.
It's going to devour me whole.

And when I'm almost to the brink of insanity because of my fear, I suddenly realize that I can't breathe -
I've been in this godforsaken water for so long that my lungs have begun to strain from oxygen's absence.

What can I do?
I have nowhere to go, no way to breathe. The hidden danger is coming closer, possibly circling somewhere beneath me, and everything is getting darker. I'm tired. It's as if exhaustion is pulling me down further, whispering to me that it's okay if I want to fall asleep.

I want to fall asleep, I really do -
maybe it would be a better fate than the one I would be faced with if I were to stay awake and deal with the monster that's lurking in the darkness.
Just fall asleep, leave what's unimportant behind -
you'll finally have some peace and quiet, won't you?

Either way, I'm faced with an inevitable choice.
And in my dream, I choose to leave it behind -
I hesitantly open my mouth and begin to choke and sputter when water fills my lungs and burns, burns, burns me up to the brim.

I am burning, burning, burning from the inside out - tears would be streaming my face if the ocean hadn't decided to steal them away and tuck them into its pocket for safekeeping.

I guess this is death, but all I know is that I am grateful -
my eyes close against my own accord -
and I never have to see the terrifying thing that wanted me as its prey.

I feel saved -
except when I wake up and my pillow really is soaked with tears, and I still cannot breathe properly, and my heart feels as if it's burning up, and I am still surrounded by darkness.
Nobody wins - especially you.

Eyes heavy with sleep,
limbs weighed down by something that could be called love -
It's been a couple of hours since we spoke and I'm a fool for missing you.

I really shouldn't get ahead of myself -
you're probably tucked into clean sheets and dreams that don't involve shaky hands and warm lips.

It's not about me, shouldn't be about what I want and what I need.

But I want you more than a little girl wants a night light in her room -
And I need you more than a budding flower needs rainwater in a dry season.

I hope you wake up soon and, without acknowledging what I've been asking for, give me anything you're willing to give.

black roses wilted on an indented bed,
a sheen of sweat on the back of your neck,
a frayed photograph on the empty wall.

there's a strange sound coming from outside my window -
is it the wind or is it, is it me?
trying to get back in, trying to return -
begging to be invited back into its heavy body.

i'm not scared easily,
but i was scared the day you left.
i'm not scared easily,
but i was scared the day you returned.

a flash of light outside my window -
a growl of thunder that demands your attention even while dreaming -
i think it's beginning to rain.

did i mention that it rained on the day you came back?
i'm scared now.
it might be time to get the roses off my bed.

There is a world where I sit in the back of a bus, going to work -
and another where I sit at a bar on a Friday night -
and another where I sit by a river in the evenings and draw what I see.

In that world, you are the woman who gets on the bus after my stop and sits in the empty seat across from mine -
in that world, you are the young man laughing carelessly on the dance floor with a drink in your hand -
in that world, you are the obscure figure in the distance that drifts by on their boat, feeding ducks and playing a harmonica as the sun goes down.

The me in that world will admire your pretty face from afar, too afraid to say anything -
in that one, I will force myself to stand and ask you for a dance -
in the last one, I will draw you as you pass by, your song leaving me in its wake.

What I'm trying to say is -
I think I got stuck in the world where I haven't met you yet and don't know if I ever will.

You can spend days, weeks, or months talking to someone -
but in the end, you don't really know them at all.

They can be the first thing you think of in the morning and the last thing that crosses your mind before you fall asleep -
but in the end, you don't really know them at all.

They can make you smile when they send you pictures of what they're doing throughout the day, what sights they're seeing, or how sweet they look when it's cold outside and they're bundled up -
but in the end, you don't really know them at all.

In the end, they can invite you over for dinner and a movie and it'll be the first time you meet. It'll feel nice when they hold you in their arms and carefully trail a single finger down your lower back.

It'll feel nice when they pull you closer and kiss you, your socked feet trailing down their leg.

It'll feel confusing when they pull away and tell you to follow them to their bedroom.
It'll feel strange when they shut and lock the door behind them, gesturing towards their bed.
It'll feel uncomfortable when they climb on top of you and take your pants off. Your underwear is thrown away, too.

"No ***. Okay?"

It won't feel okay when they *******, regardless of what you've said. Who knew a ceiling could look so interesting in the dark?

It won't feel good when you lay there and realize you're being used. Who knew my first time would be so ******* memorable?

You can spend a long time believing that the world is perfectly defined and that the people within it are as raw as the sunsets we witness everyday.

But the sun never truly disappears. Our eyes are fooled by the coming of night, the arrival of the moon and the stars. Those never truly disappeared, either.

They were just hiding in plain sight.

You can spend a long time believing that you know someone, that everything they truly are is within reach -
but then you would just be fooling yourself.

People are not sunrises and sunsets.
They're everything in between -
dreams, fears, locked doors, eyes squeezed tight, and a smiling face in the dark.

In the end, you need to wake up.

i have a dream in the future -
of a sharp, obsidian blade
that makes a home for itself in the palm of my hand.
and when i swing the blade,
it connects with my father's neck -
and makes a swift entry and exit.

my father's head rolls on the floor -
and i watch in curiousity as old vines and blue tulips
sprout from his severed neck.

who knew that those things lived inside of him?
well, i guess i know now.

when i was a little girl,
i used to lay my head in my father's lap -
and his wrinkled, brown hand would hover above my face.
and i would close my eyes,
as his thick fingers traced themselves over the contours of my youthful skin.

it felt nice.
his fingers would sweep underneath my chin -
across my forehead -
but i loved it best when his touch made itself known,
with light fingertips fluttering over my closed eyelids.

he was the magician -
healing my eyesight of the world i'd seen -
the sights i'd witnessed -
he was making me feel pure again,
touching me into sleep,
making it known that i was safe.
that i am safe.

Today, I poured tears all over my notebook.
Although my eyes are red-rimmed and I'd rather keep the journal closed, I'll share with you something I wrote.

I am dying. I am dying. Piece by piece, the pieces that were me are dying. They're going away. Everything that made me who I am is going away, it's gone. I can't keep it.

I don't know if I'm supposed to decide if that's a good or bad thing. Maybe it doesn't have to be either. But I can feel it. I feel it.

It's like tearing a tree from the ground. A big tree with a wide trunk that has been standing for so long, through every season and year. And now something, some unseen force, is chopping me down and taking my branches and leaves and roots away.

Everything that makes me who I am.

I don't know what to do. My memories are disappearing and gone. I don't want to be chopped down. I didn't want this and it's happening anyway.

The worst kind of torment is when you know things used to be a certain way and now you know they're different. When a certain time used to be something good and happy and loving and you took it for granted.

You were an idiot and took it for granted and now it's gone.

Now you're sitting here with your heart in your hands and you don't know what to do. I don't know what to do. Nothing makes sense.

I have memories and those hurt the most. Do you know how many times I've tried to say goodbye to them, to my memories? So many times. I bury the memories somewhere and they come back, they always come back and hurt me. Even the good ones. Everything hurts me. They hurt me over and over again.

They leave me over and over again. They left me so many times, I lost count. I don't even know if they were really here at all. Something inside of me tells me, no, they weren't. They were never really with you.

I feel empty most days. Like the tree that has finally been chopped down and left for dead.

Have I ever been afraid of dying? No. I've died many times.

I died when they left me in that desert, I died when they forced me to make a choice I didn't want to make, I died when she left in the middle of the night and never came back, I died when I had to say goodbye to my sister, I died when I realized that my love died out a long time ago and wouldn't return.

It won't return because the people I love are dead. They've been gone for such a long time. How long is a long time? It's longer than forever.

*They've been gone for lifetimes and won't come back.

Mind, heart, and body -
three parts of me that don't recognize the girl in the mirror any longer.

My mind is my mother:
a beautiful maze underneath the sun that has a pond at the center. A pond filled with lotus flowers and surrounded by stray crows that watch the calm water.

My mind is my mother in the sense that we see the world for how it really is and we love it just the same. Our tears nourish the lotus flowers in the water and the lotus gives us life in return.

My body is my father:
a figure made out of hollow bones and broken from too many beatings. Attacks that always came from familiar hands and a voice that used to sing us to sleep at night.

My body is my father in the sense that we see the world for how it really is and we hate it just the same. We neglect food and sleep because those are merely distractions. We know what is truly important.

And my heart. What is there to say about my heart?
My heart has always been unapologetically me.

And who are you?

I am...
I am...
I am...
I am not the person in the mirror. The crow cries in the middle of the night because the mirror is filled with lies. I am not that person any longer.

I am a mind, a heart, and a body in this world but you know me as I really am.

The world will burn -
our eyes will close,
and our lips will forget each other's names.

Every lover's whisper has been lost to the wind -
every sweetheart's kiss has been long forgotten.
Isn't that the saddest thing you've ever heard?

Why should I tell you my name when you'll forget it?
Why should I whisper secrets to you when they'll become lost in all of the noise?
Why should I kiss you when even my touch isn't permanent?

I think there comes a time when -
you know you're exactly where you're meant to be -
but you also know you're needed somewhere else.

A time when you are pulled one way and then the other -
and you won't win. Nobody wins.
It's a time you can't choose -
it chooses you and you cannot do anything except follow it.

You can do nothing except get on your knees and hope it doesn't obliterate you. Please, please, please -
have mercy on me. Spare me.

I've never told anyone that I missed them,
never told anyone that their absence keeps me up at night,
never had the privilege, or perhaps the curse, of experiencing my heart when it's submerged in love and longing.

I guess I've been dipping my toes in the water - too afraid to jump right in. I've never been careless like that.

Love is not a game, not a lake you jump into during the summer when the sun is high in the sky and you're sweating bullets.

Rather, love is that oasis you find after walking one eternal day in the desert of life - the clear water you stumble upon and drink and drink and drink until you're stumbling away with lightheadedness.

Love saves you -
gives you a reason to say I miss you,
I can't sleep when you're not here,
*take my heart with you if you really must leave me.

The worst thing,
the one thing that breaks my heart the most when I think of them -
is that they were in love. They were. I swear my entire life on it.

How can two people be so perfect for each other, so loving when it came to the way they walked together through this life, and then suddenly fall apart? Why? Can you give me any sort of rational explanation for that?

I saw the way they comfortably held hands while they were driving,
I heard the way she laughed when he acted like a fool,
I felt the way he loved her when they kissed in front of me.

How did it end up like this?
I saw the way they didn't acknowledge each other at all,
I heard the way she cried when he yelled terrible things,
I felt the way he hated her when he tried to end her life in front of me.

How did we end up here?
I came from each of them but now that they are apart, I feel like I've been split in two. I'm not whole anymore.
I would say they aren't, either, but nothing in this life makes sense at all.

Maybe they were never complete in the first place -
maybe I've been dreaming this entire time and nothing about my body or mind is real.

My brown eyes are not his brown eyes,
my brown hair is not her brown hair,
my name is not their name.
Their blood is not my blood and their voices do not combine to make one.

I have never been theirs, and they have never been mine.
Is that the truth? Is that what this has come to? Is that what I've been running from this entire time? Is that what they already knew but neglected to think about? To remember? To realize?

You want to know what I think? I don't think anything,
I don't have any ******* thoughts because they were me. They are me. I am them. I was them.

We were one in the same and now that they are gone,
I am nothing. I am nothing.
I never existed and perhaps the saddest thing,
the one thing that breaks what I have left of an already broken heart,
is that I never existed to them.

They didn't see me. They didn't see the beautiful thing they made together, the one thing left in this world that proves there was a them in the first place.

kissing you burns me
fingers covered in ash
eyelashes singed with hot tears

i cannot love anymore
lest i lose myself
inside the fire

There was no time for the heart.
The heart had to be buried somewhere safe and sound, somewhere dark and quiet and possibly unknown even to me...the heart needed to survive.

So it was put in the ground.
And now, it is banging on the door, clawing at its coffin, panicking and screaming to be let out.

It can't breathe. It can't breathe. It can't breathe.

The feeling that seeps inside your bones when you wake up from a dream and don't remember anything, don't remember if it was good or bad -
that feeling is me.

When you're unsure if you're truly alone and you check every room for the heartbeat that is just out of earshot -
that heartbeat is mine.

Can't you feel me?

My hands have touched many souls, many heaving chests, many dripping eyes - but it was not of my own accord. Except for you. I've been waiting for you for many lifetimes.

In this life, I know what I need to do. My eyes were meant for seeing yours, my mouth crafted for saying your name, my hands shaped intricately so they can fit between another pair. Your hands.

These are the things I need to do, but you don't exist to me yet.

I'm the one that wakes up in the morning, eyes bleary with tears and the forgotten memory of someone whispering good-bye.
I'm the one that hears a distant rhythm and has to check every corner for the source, to no avail.  

I'm just a girl, waiting.
I'm just a girl, hopeful.
I'm just a girl, broken.
I'm just a girl, leaving.

Dear lover,

There will be nights that you won't understand, nights where I'll only want to go to sleep and find comfort in the silence of a bedroom.
There will be mornings where you'll leave the bed before I do, mornings where I might not even get out of bed at all.

I want you to know that I'm still me -
I'm still the girl that begs you to leave the house at one in the morning for an adventure. I'm still the girl that will get out of bed first so that you'll find breakfast waiting for you in the kitchen.

I'll still love you if you don't get it.
More pathetically, I'll still love you if you leave.

I like to think that someone who truly understands won't leave in the first place -
but maybe that's just me being naive.
Every person that I've ever loved has left in the end, so who's to say that you won't pack your bag and quietly shut the door behind yourself when you go?

If you do, I want you to know that I'm sorry. This is who I am and I will never change. I can't change.

It flows in my blood and makes a home out of my heart -
it's something that takes the shape of a little girl who cannot stop crying for her parents. A little girl who wants someone to hold her more than anything, but not just any person.
It's something called loneliness.

I'll still love you if you go,
but I just might love you more if you decide to stay.

in the midst of a dream
on thanksgiving morning
i was snoring away in a peaceful slumber when
firm hands wrapped around my stomach,
a couple of long fingers rested familiarly upon my breast

your hot breath was lighting up the back of my neck like a bushfire
your whiskers tickling the top of my spine
now i was awake.

you were breathing so heavily -
“go back to sleep” i mumbled, making myself smaller in your embrace
you got even closer against me
unbearably closer
whispering like you knew something i didn’t
“i just wanted to get your attention”

nothing was thought of that
i wanted to go back to sleep, after all
and you are known for playing games
but i don’t think i would be lying if i said that
my heart started beating like a mad drum
the hairs on the back of my neck stood up
and my whole body became the most awake it’s ever been
when you said
“i...love you”

i won’t forget that moment -
and i still have the biggest smile on my face that
is beginning to hurt.
“i love you too” i said so, so, so quietly
because i was afraid i was still sleeping in a dream
and none of it was real.
but we did go back to sleep -
and when we woke up again later
i knew deep in my heart that we had spoken those words to each other
in the world of the living.
and i am thankful for that.

I just want to hear you calling my name.
And for me to say, yes? What do you need?

I want to sit behind you
and kiss all the freckles you have across your shoulders.
To rest my hands across your stomach and feel it trembling -
feel its warmth and softness as you consume my love.

I want you to close your eyes
and rest your head on my shoulder,
to make me laugh when your hair tickles my nose.

I want to hear you say, Oops. Sorry about that.

I'll just love you a little bit extra, because everything you do is lovely to me.
And even when a moan escapes your lips as my kisses relocate to your neck, no one will be sorry about that.

I'll just hold your belly when it quivers. I'll just listen to your voice shake when you whisper, Please. More.

I'll give you whatever you want because I'm starving for it, too.

Between wet tongues and rose petals -
underneath sweeping eyelashes and fallen eyes,
I love you still, now, and always.

When I clutch the empty covers next to me, I'm really clutching you -
your chest is on mine and our hearts are beating together. Every pluck of a red petal from its stem, from its home, is me coming back to you.

I pluck. You love me.
You pluck. I love you.

Back and forth until our mouths are red and raw - petals themselves and swollen from falling into desire. Kiss me again.

What you need,
is someone who will place a finger upon your heart's lips and silence the words that always tumble out.

Someone who says, shush. Don't you hear that?

What you need,
is someone who gently turns your head towards the source of the sound. The sound of waves breaking gently upon the shore.
The quiet sound of your heart rearranging itself.

What you need,
is someone who presses their palms across your eyes.

Someone who says, don't look. Just listen.
And you do listen. You hear more than the sound of waves crashing.

You hear someone's heartbeat beating faster than your own.
You hear someone's eyelashes fluttering closed against the back of your neck.
You hear someone's breathless words being brought to life against your lips.

I love you. Can't you see?
Yes, I see. Even in the darkness of my own heart, I see.

More than anything, I love you.

When the ground beneath us broke apart and we struggled to breathe, I was glad. I was glad because you were there with me.

I wouldn't have survived if our hands weren't interlocked, if our voices hadn't found each other. Do you remember what you said?

It's going to be okay. I know it will. One day, we'll be okay.

I think you were right because the ground has stopped breaking and I can breathe evenly now. The only thing I haven't been able to face yet is the empty space beside me.

No, I won't look. If I don't look, then you're not really gone.
I'll keep repeating the words you said only because I miss your voice. Miss the swipe of your fingers along my palm.
Miss what life was like before the world ended.

we've been talking for 47 minutes and 33 seconds
we already talked earlier today
i like listening to you ramble
makes it feel like you're actually next to me

i can see the way your mouth is moving
your hands lifting higher, higher, higher
as you get more animated
i can see your floppy, straw-colored hair -
your long fingers brushing it out of your eyes

you're talking about politics right now
and i'm really not a huge fan of politics at all -
it bores me quite a bit,
but i wouldn't mind listening to you talk
for the rest of the night.

the fact of the matter is -
the stars will continue to paint the sky every night even if you're gone -
the sun will continue to lick its flames upon the earth even when you become a part of the ground.

a bullet in your heart doesn't care -
rain falling from black clouds don't care -
the stray cat pays no mind as it passes your empty house.

is that a bad thing?

does the world have selfish intent,
by forgetting the harvest that it sows?
do i really mean nothing enough,
to be forgotten when i take my last breath?

i expected more of the world -
i expected more of this life -
i expected more of what love i had left.

sadness is not a strong enough word to describe how i feel -
when i think of the sun continuing to rise and the moon keeping its shine -
even if i am not around to see it.

Your heart will continue to beat,
your blood will continue to claim you.
But, please. Come back to me.

I'm unclaimed, no longer part of this world -
being untethered is all that I am.
How can you continue to breathe when I'm in a different world, banging on the wall between us and begging you to hear me?

Don't you hear me?
Stop looking at what is in front of you and listening to the words that are being said. See the person that's invisible to you and hear their silent pleas.
Don't be purposefully blind.

*I'm right here.

I remember you -
sitting at the edge of my bed, staring at the floor.

I remember you -
stroking my hand, thinking about something deep.

You didn't know I was awake,
and when I uttered your name,
a drop of crystal spilling from my cracked lips -
you were startled.

You fell to the floor and I reached out for you -
please, come back to me again. Caress my skin again. Look at me again.

You stared with big, black eyes -
and hissed at me -
and my heart submissively crawled back into a dark place.

I'm sorry, I tried to say.
But you bared your teeth at me -
snarled a lip that used to be so tender -
and left me once again.

Not for the first time.

Tears sting my eyes when I read the words.

They never loved you. If they did, they wouldn't have hurt you.

That's not true. Sometimes the people we love hurt us and they don't mean to, deep down.

Sometimes the people we love yell at us when they're angry and sometimes they leave in the middle of the night.

They still love me even if they don't apologize afterwards or return in the morning.

Tears sting my eyes when I remember the words.
They are the same people that said this:

We are so proud of you, Gigi. You will always be our little girl. We love you so much.

The same mouth that yelled at me when he wanted me to leave him alone. The same eyes that cried heavy tears into my shoulder when she left.

It doesn't matter if they're the same. Either way, they love(d) me.

I'm tired of waiting -
waiting for the person who will take my hand when they see my downcast eyes and my bated breath.

I'm tired of waiting -
waiting for the person who will kiss me until I'm breathless, breathless with rebirth and filled with an ache for more.

I'm tired of waiting -
waiting for that person who will soothe the ache with three words.
I love you.

There's so much love that I have to give,
and the person I want to give it to most - isn't here.
I'm a patient person, I swear I am. But -
I don't want to spend my days and nights waiting anymore.

make the pain go away -
by any means possible -
because my bed is forever indented with the shape of my hurting body -
and i don't remember the last time
i opened my curtains.

but i do remember
when you held me tight -
and crushed me to your chest.
or when you buried your face
in my neck
and left it stained with warm tears.

i want to remember how much
you really cared for me -
but it gets more difficult with every passing hour.

memories don't just dissolve into thin air -
i must unwrap the tendrils of fear that have made a home in my mind.
maybe i'm afraid of remembering -
because i know better than to believe -
that forgetting is possible.