I once made out with a guy
I now consider a friend
in front of a bar until he asked
to go back to my place.
I could barely drive because
he couldn’t keep his hands off me.
As I fumbled to unlock the door he
had his arms around my waist,
kissing my neck.
Once we made it to my bed he
kept saying how long he had been
wanting to do this with me,
and then in between drunken kisses
he slurred, I love you.
I actually laughed and said,
No you don’t, you just love me right now.

I felt a warm breeze on my back, maybe a perfect 75 degrees. The sky was a little cloudy but I could still see the stars. I was sitting on a broken bench smoking a cigarette, watching the fireworks that someone was setting off a block away. Fireflies danced just above the grass and it was quiet, only the faint sound of light traffic in town. And I was alone. But I was happy to be. Normally I wouldn’t sit outside in the dark by myself because I don’t want to become a true crime story but it was so nice out. Then the fireworks stopped and I finished the cigarette so I slowly made my way back to the door of my apartment building and went inside.

I got home from an afternoon spent by the water
and found him asleep on the floor in front of the fan.
I got down beside him and hugged him and he woke up.
I kissed him three times on the forehead and
said,
“I missed you. I wished you were there to have fun with.”
He said, “I know, I’m sorry.” and laid his head on my arm.
I ran my fingers through his hair and told him about my day.

As I lay there on a towel in the sun, surrounded by my friends; I couldn’t help but wish he were there.

I spent the rest of my evening with him getting food and wishing I could stay cuddled up on the couch, but I had to go to work.

I love you so much for
making room for me
in your life.
For staying when you came
into my apartment that December morning
and proving that not everybody leaves.

Last night I watched a video about a girl who dealt with the same thing I do.
Trichotillomania (hair pulling)
But she was able to beat it.
Everything she said was 100% true, and it felt like someone gets it.
It’s something that no one cares about other than you.
People claim to not notice it, or pretend that they don’t.
They laugh when you tell them, because they think it’s a joke, that it can’t be real.
Significant others get sick of telling you to stop, and picking your hair off all of their clothes.
It’s embarrassing, shameful, and frustrating.
And I’ve done it for 8 years.
But this time, for real, I am going to beat it.
I only pulled out one hair all day, so far so good.
Just now I almost put my fingers in my hair but I didn’t.
I’m hoping with time it’ll get easier.