Feb 2014
the first night you wrapped your arms around my waist and kissed my forehead, i cried myself to sleep
and the first morning you called just to say "have a good day", i failed a math test
the first afternoon we spent lying in your bed, i screamed with the window down the whole way home
the first time we fought, i smoked a pack of cigarettes in my drive way with my hands shaking violently and my knees pulled up to my chest
and the first time we made up, i spent three days writing poems about the skin on your fingertips and the shadows under your eyes
"i didn't get home until pretty late, so i didn't want to wake you, but if you get this in the morning, i hope you have a good day at school... call me when you get home.. oh, and...
i love you, i love you, i love you.
okay"
i listened to that voice mail every day for the first week that we did not speak.
and re-read text messages for the first month and a half.
i still remember deleting it all. she held my hand and said, "you can't keep torturing yourself." i held my breath and said, "well there, i'm free."
but i felt the walls caving in on me.
and i couldn't understand why i needed the sound of your laugh more than the roof over my head.
and i couldn't understand how my skull fit into the bend of your elbow with more ease than my tempurpedic pillow.
"i'm sorry i haven't gotten in touch with you. i wasn't sure if it'd hurt you to hear from me... but i do miss you a lot and i hope everything is okay."
your name danced across the screen of my phone,
one time at 2:00 A.M. and i felt nauseous all of the following day.
my sister and i
swam in the hotel swimming pool
last weekend when we were away
and the smell of chlorine in my hair
made my stomach turn, because
it reminded me of the summer
we fell asleep on the floor of my living
room, with our bathing suits on
every night for three weeks straight
most days the sense of longing
is so strong that it knocks the wind
from my lungs
and i'm just afraid
that i'll never learn
to breathe easy again
and the first morning you called just to say "have a good day", i failed a math test
the first afternoon we spent lying in your bed, i screamed with the window down the whole way home
the first time we fought, i smoked a pack of cigarettes in my drive way with my hands shaking violently and my knees pulled up to my chest
and the first time we made up, i spent three days writing poems about the skin on your fingertips and the shadows under your eyes
"i didn't get home until pretty late, so i didn't want to wake you, but if you get this in the morning, i hope you have a good day at school... call me when you get home.. oh, and...
i love you, i love you, i love you.
okay"
i listened to that voice mail every day for the first week that we did not speak.
and re-read text messages for the first month and a half.
i still remember deleting it all. she held my hand and said, "you can't keep torturing yourself." i held my breath and said, "well there, i'm free."
but i felt the walls caving in on me.
and i couldn't understand why i needed the sound of your laugh more than the roof over my head.
and i couldn't understand how my skull fit into the bend of your elbow with more ease than my tempurpedic pillow.
"i'm sorry i haven't gotten in touch with you. i wasn't sure if it'd hurt you to hear from me... but i do miss you a lot and i hope everything is okay."
your name danced across the screen of my phone,
one time at 2:00 A.M. and i felt nauseous all of the following day.
my sister and i
swam in the hotel swimming pool
last weekend when we were away
and the smell of chlorine in my hair
made my stomach turn, because
it reminded me of the summer
we fell asleep on the floor of my living
room, with our bathing suits on
every night for three weeks straight
most days the sense of longing
is so strong that it knocks the wind
from my lungs
and i'm just afraid
that i'll never learn
to breathe easy again
