The truth of it is-

he's not going to fix you

she's not going to make you forget
the way your father would hit you

He is not going to make your collarbones sprout roses
He will not make you forget how to need

The truth of it is-

She is not a savior
She is not able to fight off the demons in your dreams

He will not make you forget the way your mother left
The bloodstains in the bathtub will still be there

The truth of it is-
This is your life
This is not a movie

No one is going to swoop in and save you

You will have to grow your own wings if you want to fly away

I miss you less and less each day
and that breaks my heart in every way.


                                                ↠mndi➣

my retainer broke and i held it in my hand
my nails were ***** because we were at camp
it was red plastic despite tasting like metal
and you were there, we walked into a boat
abandoned in the dry sand piled high
i kept seeing flies and i felt my heart
it was enormous and i couldn't stand
you made a face to show that you felt the same
when i told you about my fear of them,
and i made a face when you said you'd
forgotten to let me know, that in seven weeks
it would be goodbye, and you were leaving
for the empty deserts of California

i thought about the days and how to tell you
that i loved you, that i loved you, here,
that goodbye was all i had and all i could give
because my mouth was full from all the camp food
and the darkness you had chased away

you told me to sit by you later
when we watched the symphony play

when i woke up i couldn't shake the feeling that you had
died

i. you broke both my legs and i'm still trying to walk. you ripped concertos from the back of my throat and said,
"look how beautiful you are."

ii. you don't have a nice smile. you smile like it's hurting you, like it's tearing you apart from the inside and you choke out words like stakes digging into my back, saying,
"then again, you did seem heaven sent."

iii. you sing church hymns with your whole self, your body pulsating with the force of it. you look at me when you sing, narrow your eyes as you kiss me, singing amazing grace like it actually meant something to you.

iv. you're biblical. you kiss my fingers and hiss holy words into the spaces between them, recite verses when we go to sleep at night, whispering,
"i don't have much faith left for messiahs, but i'm pretty sure you could be one."

v. i hate you and i don't know why. actually, that's wrong. i hate you because you never really died, did you, you're still here, imprinted across every surface in my house did you know that having an eidetic memory means i will never be able to forget you?

vi. you shattered my jaw and took the remains with you, painting a mural in different shades of red, saying,
"sweetheart, this is how you look best."

vii. you told me once that vampires are just vengeful angels and i don't know if i still believe that. i don't know if i ever believed that. i don't know what you believe when you tell me,
"look at the mess you've made."

viii. i wonder how long i've been faithless, or faithful. whatever you want to call it, sweetheart, when you say,
"you could have been all this, love, and more."