How do you know it's over?
How do you know the pain is gone?

When seconds blur into minutes and minutes blur into hours
and hours turn into days
and days burn away until it's years later...

How do you know?

I'm inclined to believe it never ends -
simply because it's the same as when I go to sleep
and when I wake up in the morning.

That is, if I wake up at all.

I say this because I know the moon rises and the sun sets -
everyone knows this.

I also know there was a time when the sound of your breathing
helped me fall asleep and the feel of your cold feet on mine helped
me wake up.

These things were true. But the moon also goes away and the sun comes up eventually.
You're not here and pain is what has been left behind.

So, I'll ask again.
How do I know it's over?
How do I know when this pain is gone?

Self pity is strange -
it makes you acknowledge that there's a separate part of you looking down on a lesser version of, well, you.

Can we be lesser in some parts, and greater in others?

When I look in the mirror and see a woman who has no courage to let any tears fall, a woman who fears what comes after the rain has left, a woman who is barely breathing -
does she exist?

When I look in the mirror and see a woman who has cried so long that her eyelids are swollen, a woman who gladly walks outside when the rain has stopped, a woman who is breathing so much that her heart is asking for mercy -
does she exist?

I know these two women have the same face, the same eyes, the same trembling hands, the same black ink that litters their skin.

But I'm concerned with what the mirror doesn't show. Are they the same on the inside?

Do their hearts beat in tandem?
Do they recognize each other?

I think one of them would place a palm over her chest and the other would allow a tear to fall.
That would be the only answer I need -
after all, they know more about me than I do.

i'm bleeding diamonds -
twinkling and twinkling as they shatter on the black floor -
shining like falling stars as they leak from my ***** body.

i'm wounded,
can't you see?
you kissed me on the forehead,
and i fell to my knees.

the diamonds spilled from my open mouth -
the diamonds spilled from the corners of my eyes -
the diamonds spilled from the fatal wound in my chest.

i don't know where the crystals came from -
but i think they must have come from you.
you kissed me on the lips,
and caused these little stars to be cut out from inside of me.

it burns so much -
but -
it feels like i am being cleaned from within.

i won't lie
and say we haven't been like two fish
swimming circles in our fish bowl

one night ago
on the eve of our anniversary
we sat in silence and ate sushi
and all i could think was -
how distant i felt from you
despite our legs touching underneath the table.

how can this be,
when we've been swimming circles
in our fish bowl?

it's been two months
since the betrayal
and
i won't lie
and say we haven't been like two fish
swimming in two different oceans
in two different parts of the world.

things are not the same like they used to be -
but i have some hope that
we will stop swimming circles
soon.

Between cold sheets and two words that sound close to something like harsh wind, between loud bangs and flowing tears that will never end.

Between all of these things, I'm calling out to you.
Between these two worlds, this precipice, you still belong to me.

You belong to me. Where do you think you're going?

In the end, everyone forgets.

There's a distant memory of me sitting in the passenger seat of a car -
my mom is driving and it's nighttime.
I'm very little.

Outside, it's pitch black except for a few sparse city lights in the distance and the never-ending stars above. In front of us, there is only a dark road.

I start crying all of a sudden. Heavy tears make me shake and it's as if there's a violent wave racking my small body from side to side, forcing me to drown.

"Gigi? What's wrong?"

I cry harder. She wants to know why I'm sad, of course she does. It's just making my chest hurt because I can't say it. I don't know how. Please, don't make me say it.

"Sweetheart..."

She rubs my arm and I look out the window, wiping away my truths. I look into that void and see it as clear as the slash of a blade.

"You're going to be dead one day."

In the end, everyone forgets.
It's the only thing I can hold onto in this life, even if it slips through my fingers and leaves nothing behind.

It's the only thing I've ever known and ever will be.

For a long time, I didn't want to write because I was afraid of what would show up on my paper.
I avoided pencils, notebooks, and my therapist's advice to write down the feelings you have.

I know now that my mind was simply trying to protect me -
you see, the things I felt and the people I loved were too painful to think about.

I couldn't pick up a pencil and write in a notebook because that would have been the equivalent to picking up a handgun and loading it with bullets.

If I had followed through and pushed away my fear, I would probably be dead now. My notebook would be covered in blood.

Sometimes fear is a good thing - it keeps us alive when we need to be.

it's like when you have a terrible dream -
of a monster lurking in the shadows -
waiting, just waiting, for you to get close enough.

and you're scared -
and you know the monster is there -
and you know that there's no way out of this.

but then something happens -
there's a blood curdling scream -
and you understand that the monster has been defeated.

and you see the darkness being lifted away -
and your parents are there!
and you have never felt so overjoyed in your life, to see the two people you love most in the world standing there.

and they come to you, and they say -
"don't worry, the monster is gone. we got him."
and they hug you, wrapping you in warmth and love -
and the world is fine. everything is as it should be.

everything is as it should be.

For me, love is a desert.
It's a horizon that never ends and a scorching heat that burns my skin when I walk.
It's sore feet and a mouth that hasn't had a drop of water in years.

There is no oasis.

For me, love is dust that coats my body. Sand that irritates my eyes and gets in my hair. Love is an attempt to speak but no sound leaving my throat when I try.

Love is no one. Love is nowhere. Love is nothing.
Night never comes, an oasis never appears, a gust of wind never blows my tears away.
This is love.

Who could ever love a woman like you?

You came from deep within the ground - out of a crevice where nothing should have survived.
You crawled out, knees ****** and jaw broken, and stumbled to your feet.

You walked alone until you found something on the ground -
a bud, a seed, a sign of life.

You laid next to it and, although you didn't realize it then, protected that unfamiliar thing with your life.

A life you now carried on your own because you had survived. You have survived.

And this bud, this seed, this beautiful thing -
you will protect it from harm and try with everything you have left in you to let it grow. Let it thrive. Let it become what it's meant to be.

Who couldn't ever love a woman like you?

I never should have said anything -
I should have kept my mouth shut, but I didn't.
The words were pulled out of me like an anchor hauled from choppy waters -
I had no choice when it came to if they were going to be revealed or not.

"Have you ever been suicidal?"
"Uh, yes."
"Are you currently suicidal?"
"Um. I don't really feel comfortable talking about it, to be honest."
"I'm going to make you an appointment with one of our crisis counselors. I think it would be a good idea..."

It's not funny at all to find yourself in an office with a person who genuinely believes they have the capabilities to fix you.
I know I want to die. I know nothing is going to change that.

I find it more saddening to sit across from a person who looks at you with false pity. They can't fix anyone and I know, deep down, they're waiting for me to leave.

I'm waiting for myself to leave, too. I should have just kept my mouth shut like I always do -
Never let it slip that you have the desire to be dead. What ensues afterwards is more humiliating than the moment you finally do **** yourself.

tell me where to go
because wandering is what i know
tell me where to stay
because leaving keeps a light on inside of me

tell me what to do
because i've been laying in this bed for days
tell me what to be
because i believe this woman in the mirror is the one who won the part

tell me, tell me, tell me
won't you show me the way?

It's been you since the beginning.

Although you weren't in the same room or in the same point of time, you were there when I took my first breath.

I saw you. You were looking at me with those eyes - they were both a greeting and a goodbye. That's how things work in this life, you know.

I heard your voice. I couldn't tell if you were laughing or crying - but aren't they the same? Your message was clear to me. I'm here.

I felt your heart. Do you want to know how? Come closer and I'll tell you.

You and I are the same. We're one. When I took my first breath, you took your last.

I wish it wasn't this way. I wanted to delay what I knew was inevitable.

I'm sorry.

Don't be. You didn't do anything wrong. This is how things work, remember?
Just come closer and kiss me. That's all I want before you go. Tell me our secret in my ear.  

*You and I are the same. We're one. One day, I will take my first and last breath with you.

The rain is still falling outside -
it's only been an hour since I woke up and I can still feel traces of you on my body.

You are the blood running between my legs.
You are the tears falling down my face.

I think it's interesting how you can be nothing and everything at once - you're not even in this world anymore and I still feel you everywhere.

Didn't I tell you to stay away from the dark astral planes?
Why didn't you listen?

I don't know where you are now.
You're lost and I don't know how to find you.

that place in the dark
where the tree lining says goodbye
to the moonlight.

a voice in the room that says -
dream lofty dreams, and as you dream,
so shall you become.

we don't talk anymore
but i don't need to hear your words
when i feel it on the inside.

I want to write about the strength of your hand when you held me before you left,
I want to write about the way your voice broke when you tried to say you were sorry,
I want to write about the way you sounded when you cried.

There are so many things I want to write about -
but I'm afraid.

This desire of mine will hurt me more than anything else.
It will hurt me because to write about you is like wrapping my heart in barbed wire and taking it out of my chest because it doesn't belong there anymore.
This desire of mine may **** me. But, don't we all die in the end?

You already know that.
The pain will last for only a moment -
but I do have a reason for being afraid.

A moment can last a lifetime.
I've been living in the moment of your absence for my entire life.

When it rains, I see your tears. When I'm in a crowded room, all I hear is your voice. When I close my eyes and try to fall asleep, I can feel you holding onto my arm until it begins to hurt.

This is what I'm living in and this is what I want to write about.
After all, I will die if I decide to write and I will still die an even harsher death if I continue to live this way.

My therapist used to ask why I always smiled when I talked about you, especially when the things I talked about weren't happy at all.

I really don't know, I'd say.

She'd tilt her head and watch me carefully. I'd hold my breath because the words didn't exist yet.

It hurt too much to say them so I could only do the one thing I've always done: smile. Smile because it's okay. Smile because the world is how it should be.

When I walked out of therapy, I didn't smile for the rest of the day. My mouth didn't turn up at the corners for anything.

Only in therapy did I make the effort to show that I was remotely okay.

Now, as I lay in bed, the words become real. In this empty house, something comes into existence.

I miss you.

My mouth doesn't threaten to put on a mask. My lips know better than to try and lie anymore.

I want to be where you are. I want to be with you.

I never said these words because they didn't exist in my mind yet. My mouth, god bless her, wanted to save me from the pain of knowing.

With no one around, no one to witness the words as they come into existence, I begin to panic.

Tears fall from my eyes because I didn't anticipate the pain of seeing. The all-encompassing pain of believing that you are no longer around.

Sometimes feelings don't hit you until you're ready.

In the midst of battle, we have to be strong. We cannot be vulnerable when we are being watched, being attacked, being torn apart.

You cannot shed tears when your enemy is standing in front of you, yelling words that might as well be bullets because they sting when they hit your body.

But you're strong. You're bulletproof.

You fight back with everything you have. You close your eyes, keep your mouth shut, tuck away all of the parts of you that are fragile.
You lock them inside of your chest, deep down, and throw away the key.

The enemy never leaves. They are always there.
Everyday is a battle - every moment is spent looking behind your shoulder, every second of every day is spent brandishing your weapon.

You cannot sleep. There is no such thing as being safe. You cannot do anything but survive.

One day, you will find yourself alone. You will continue to survive even if the enemy is not in front of you, no longer in sight.

We've been doing this for so long that it becomes a part of us.
Did you know things can become a part of you without you realizing it?

You should probably look down at yourself and see if you are wounded - if your body is littered with cuts and gunshot wounds and if your fingernails are caked with blood.

We don't realize how long we've been fighting. We'll **** anyone that tries to take our weapon, our last bit of primal defense. Every single person we see is the enemy and we are ready to fight them off.

We could never anticipate the feelings.

Feelings are snakes in the bushes, slithering their way across our bodies while we try to sleep. They bite and infect us with their poison until we wake up screaming, clawing at our chests to get the venom out.

Feelings are butterflies in the sun, coming closer to us and settling on our clothes. We try to step away and avoid them. They land in our hair and sit in the palms of our hands, content with a place to rest.

One day, we will find ourselves alone and it will be more terrifying than waiting for the enemy to appear.

We will bury our weapon in the dirt because the feeling that begins to bloom in our chest will be unbeatable. We will rest our head in our hands and bite our lip until it's bleeding. We will squeeze our eyes shut so the only thing we see is darkness.

When the feeling hits, there is no defending yourself.

*You have survived.

i don't have much to say
except
i still feel your skin on mine
i still see your eyes in the dark
i still yearn for your fingertips everywhere

i'm not a forward person by any means -
but i find myself wanting you,
wanting the quietness of it,
the familiarity of our touching.

and i'm not a selfish person by any means -
but god,
i want all of you and more.

we are live wires
and i'm trying my best
to not catch fire
after you spilled your
affection
all over me.

it's only been two weeks,
and i thought i would forget
the striking blue of your eyes
your straw-colored hair
the quiet, yet loud gaze you give me
when you think i'm not paying attention.

maybe i'm wrong,
maybe i'm only seeing what i want to see,
but i hope you're patient with me.

When I look at you,
something strange yet familiar washes over me.

I stand under the shower of emotion -
lathering it into my hair, scrubbing it roughly into my skin, allowing it to wash away every sin I've ever had.

I've had many, so I stand here for a long time.

But your voice, your voice calls to me and beckons me to come out.

Come out of there. Come to me. You're clean now.

I've never been clean, or at least I don't remember a time when I wasn't. But I trust you. Your eyes are gentle and there's no hint of malice in the corners of your mouth when I step into the room.

Come here.

I sit next to you on the bed and you pull me into your side, my head instinctively seeking the beat of your heart.
It mimics the single thought that throbs in some dark corner of my mind.

I trust you. I trust you. I trust you.

Trusting another heart has been my biggest sin. But this doesn't feel wrong.

Maybe I'm making a mistake,
but everything about this feels right.

little girl with the cherry in her mouth,
i feel sorry for you and your big brown eyes.

little girl with the brown sandals
and hair so messy
it could be a wasp's nest -
i swallow my regret because i know,
i know you are enough.

little girl,
you with the skip in your step,
and skinned knees
and ugly birthmark on the back of your leg
and big - fat - ugly - nose
and hairy eyebrows,
you are braver than i am.

your soul has a piece of the sunrise
that i witnessed this morning
and it has the same sound
as the wind i hear howling outside my window at night.

little girl, what you are on the inside
will never die -
cherish it well,
it has more meaning than you could believe.

You do not know pain until you tell someone you love them,
and they don't reply.

You do not know anger until someone tells you they love you,
and they have been gone forever.

You do not know love until you tell each other I love you,
and neither of you mean the same thing.

we've made a crevice in my bed
and i'm worried about falling in
and taking you with me

we've come too far
and i don't see where we're going
we need to find our way home

i don't cry -
not in front of others
not at any time during the day.

but at night -
when everyone is dreaming
i can't sleep
because my own dreams are dead
and all that's left is my wet pillow.

i wish i could dream again.

“you are likely wounded by your understanding of love”

wounded like a kicked puppy
licking your wounds -
sharp claws on a marble floor
wet nose smelling someone that’s no longer there
licking your wounds -
the floor is slippery
with blood
with your messy understanding of love
licking your wounds -
no one loves a hurt animal

there are two types of creatures in the world
those that inflict the hurt -
and those that lick their wounds

gentle calloused hand -
on my stomach,
rubbing and stroking.

gentle hot lips -
on the back of my neck,
your whiskers feel
foreign
yet
familiar.

i feel as if
i've looked into your eyes before
i've stroked your upper brow before
i've felt your hair between my fingertips before
and i've done all of this already,
yet it all feels so new.
it's very nice to meet you.

we were sitting in my car
eating food that we shouldn’t have been eating
a comfortable silence existing between us
a single overhead light illuminating us

you looked over at me, gave a quiet smile
“you’ve got something on your face”
i shrugged and replied, “i know, i’m enjoying my food”

a delicate hand appeared, using a napkin to wipe the corner of my mouth
i chewed my food slowly, eyes blinking to the left in careful curiosity

“thanks” i replied, my stomach doing something other than digestion  
you took another bite
then looked over at me again

“can i kiss you?”
my eyes blinked to the left again
my cheeks turned a shy shade of pink
**** it, **** it, **** it

i turned towards you,
eager, smiling, wanting
“yes”

and you gave me the sweetest kiss -
there, in the silence of my car
out of nowhere, unprompted -
our food left, abandoned -
my stomach, feeling true butterflies for the first time -
an honest smile, never leaving my face.

hormonal surges
make me, force me, pain me -
they hold me by the back of my head
and spit nasty words at me
but all of that is routine.

the worst thing of all is -
they remind me
of how much i need you
they sneer at me
for crying when i have to sleep alone
they laugh at me
when i want to hear your voice just once
they yell at me
when i search for your scent on one of my old t-shirts

hormonal surges
bleeding from between my legs -
all of that is routine.
but how deeply i miss you -
that is something that makes me hang my
head in shame.

sipping a smoothie through my straw -
taste buds lighting up with how good it is.

but it's not as good as you,
not as sweet as you.

you're my favorite craving -
and i don't care about the toothaches
or the cavities
if it means i get one more taste of you.