if I went backwards,



you'd find me underneath
those dim city streetlights

laughing with the other
kids on my block.



you'd find me at
the first funeral

and then the
second and third

staring ahead with
blank eyes and a
tear-stained face,

brown dirt on
my black shoes

and you'd never again
find me laughing at
the end of my block.



you'd find me
running, running,
always running

from the cops
from rival gangs
from foster homes
from mean kids

from my responsibilities
and my guilt and the truth
and eventually from my past

and I wouldn't slow down
until I collapsed.



you'd find me on a
pool table in a basement
with my first boyfriend
on top of me.

he whispered that
he loved me,
but the bruises
said otherwise.

I listened to his voice
and ignored his actions.



again, you'd find me
running, running,
always running

from my ex and his abuse
from my self-hatred
from my confusion
from more cops

and I wouldn't slow down
until I collapsed.



if I went backwards,
I would be running.

I'm still running.

if I go forward,
will I stop?

will I always
be running?

I am broken.

there is nothing
beautiful about that.

brokenness is painful
and ugly and terrifying.

but no matter what,
I do not need you to
piece me back together.



yes, I am broken.

but I don't need
to be fixed.

one month:

we went mini-golfing
and then to the movies.

you were so nervous.
it was adorable.

you texted me
halfway through the movie

“can I hold your hand?”

I said yes.



two months:

I had an emergency removal
of my wisdom teeth.

you came and took care of me.
I was embarrassed, but
you didn’t care.

with swollen jaws and
slurred speech and a
mouthful of ****** gauze,

you still looked at me
like I was the most
beautiful woman
you had ever met.



three months:

you weren’t paying attention
and you crashed your car.

the car was totaled.
the airbags went off,
the windshield cracked.

I wasn’t hurt at all.
you hurt your neck.

the first thing you did
was get me out of the car
and onto the side of the road

even though you were
the one who was hurting.



four months:

I spent nights at your place.
we made it official.

I let you touch me.
I wanted you to touch me.
I hadn’t felt that way
in a very long time.

we drank.
we kissed.
we had ***.

the next morning,
you weren’t gone like
I thought you would be.

you had your arm
wrapped around me.

you’re a heavy sleeper.
I smiled and went
right back to sleep.



five months:

it was my birthday.
I told you that I never really
celebrated my birthday.

I was still in school,
but I didn’t go that day.
I spent the day
with you instead.

before you,
I never felt so loved.

I spent Christmas
with your family.
I had never
celebrated Christmas.



six months:

I took my shirt off
in front of you.

I hadn’t done that yet.
for half a year,
I slept with my shirt on.
we had *** with my shirt on.
you didn’t push me to.

you saw my scars.
I thought for sure
you would leave.

you didn’t even blink.
you hugged me and
you kissed me and
you didn’t see me
any differently.



seven months:

not much happened
that month.

I got close with
your family.

you’re not American.
you had lived here before
but you had moved back
only seven months earlier.
you weren’t planning
on staying, so you were
living in your parents’ house.

it was awkward
because they were
so nice to me.
I kept waiting for
something bad to happen.
nothing did.

I started leaving
my toothbrush
in your bathroom.



eight months:

you wanted to meet
my family.

family has always been
important to you.

we drove out to Ohio
to meet my uncle
and my little cousins.

they’re the least eccentric
members of my family,
but they’re still dysfunctional.
I didn’t know how
to warn you. so I didn’t.

you met my cousin.
you realized he was nonverbal.
you sat with him and you
talked to him like he was
any other twelve-year-old.

you both played video games.
more like you played, and
he watched. but I had
never seen him so happy.
he didn’t have to talk.
his smile showed me everything.

my youngest cousin
loved you too.
you played with her dolls
and you gave them
funny voices when you did.
she laughed every time.



nine months:

we got into an argument.
it was nothing serious,
but we hadn’t argued before.

you didn’t hit me.
you got up and walked away.
somehow that scared
me even more.

I waited for you to
come back with something
worse than a punch.

you came back
with a hug and an
“I love you.”



ten months:

we went to a
fertility clinic.

obviously we didn’t
want children yet,
but my friend told me
that early treatment might
be the key to helping me.

I didn’t want you
to come with me,
but you insisted.

it was bad news.
I cried. you wiped my tears
and told me that
if we ever had a baby,
it doesn’t matter how.

what would matter
is how we raise that child,
blood or not. I told you again
how much I love you.



eleven months:

I relapsed with
my self-harm addiction.

eighteen new scars
and over sixty stitches later,
I came home.

you took care of me.
you never should’ve had
to do that, but you did.

I healed with you
by my side.



one year:

we moved in together.
you met my brothers.

you weren’t intimidated
by my brother. he tried.

he was so rude to you
and eventually you
snapped and told him
to shut the **** up.
he smiled and so did I.
he said that
you were a keeper.

you weren’t afraid to
stand up to him, even
though he was my brother.
no one had done that before.

your love for me
outweighed your
fear of my family.

my brother loved you
after that.



years:

I graduated school
and you went back
to get another degree.

we hit hard times
and we had great times
and through it all,
we were happy.

it wasn’t easy to stay.
sometimes I felt like
running so that you
couldn’t leave me first.
I stayed. so did you.

you wrote me a letter
and you asked,

“will you marry me?”

I said yes.

it is gray outside
of my window,

and it is also
gray in this room.



but outside,
the gray is obvious.

the clouds are
blocking out the sun.



and inside,
the gray is irrelevant
because you shine
so bright that

I am only ever
looking at you.



the world outside
fades away in here.

it is beautiful and
sunny and vibrant.



here, the stress of
the world outside
can't touch me.

I see no sadness
or pain or fear.



I only see you.
I only ever see you.

"I want a lifetime
of waking up to you
hogging the blankets,
and holding you on
nights where you panic.

I'm not good with words,
not like you are.

but I want to fight
for what we have.

I want to stand by you
while we remind ourselves
why we got together
in the first place.

I'm sure of what
my life needs now.

it needs the girl
who hopped onto
the back of my bike
like it was nothing,

who didn't know
that one day soon
it would be everything.

it needs the girl who
stopped me and told me that
she wasn't ready to use
those three words,

but then yelled
'I love you'
while riding me not
too many nights after.

great timing,
by the way.

it needs the girl
who used words
to turn her pain
into a message
about surviving.

I could stare at you
for hours and still
be amazed years later
that I met someone
so beautiful.

luckily, you remind
me to stop staring
and to keep my eyes
on the road.

because of you,
we only crashed once.

I am madly
in love with you

and I want this
to be forever."



I reread this note
every night when
you're working late.

you're much better
with words than
you think you are.
you must be,

because when you
handed me this
and asked me
to marry you,

I didn't hesitate
before I said "yes."