In the summer, it was too hot to know you. I spent the nights with everyone but you, crowded on the trampoline in my backyard. In the fall, you bloomed (too early or too late for spring?) into my cerebrum, every thought that crossed my mind. You stayed that way in winter, when maybe the cold never bothered me but you sure did, or maybe it was how I was moonstruck and frostbitten in lust with you. We will thaw in the spring, I feel it in my roots and branches and the way my heart will freeze over again (too early or too late for winter?). I don't want that, the way the image of you kissing her—just like how you kissed me, except with a fire the cold weather didn't permit— will invade the spaces just you (just you) did months before. I'll see your lips on her sober or drunk, awake or asleep, eyes open or closed. You are my sin, my soul, and my salvation, even if you love her (or the ones that'll follow) in the way I see you and you never saw me back. 525,600 times you played and plagued my seasons and my breath.

New year, same me. Same aching in the pit of my stomach to get out get out get out

I can't push any harder, so I'll stop. I'm not defeated, because I'm still on my feet, right?

Sometimes you have to lose the battle to win the war. I don't know if this could be considered winning, but I'm pretty sure it's a step in the right direction.

Maybe this year, with its nice rounded and whole-looking numbers, will be the year I grow a pair (*****? Wings?) and get out get out get *out

i filled a notebook with "you"
-a six word story

"sober or drunk, it's always you" it's always you always you always you always you you you you you you you you you you "you're in my veins, you ****" you ******* ******* ******* ******* **** me over and over and over and every time i look at your face world war iv starts in my stomach, to punch or to kiss. iv lines in my arms, in my veins, just like you, you ******* ******* ******* absolute **** i cannot ******* believe i fell for your tricks, the 'it's always you" and the pretty words that created mt. vesuvius all over again in my shallow, sober heart. i was absolutely ******* drunk on your fake affection while you were ******* other girls for fake affection and my friends knew and while you were in my veins (you still are) they were under my skin with the patronizing "sympathy" as i cried after you left. you left and it felt like molten lava on my skin, like nothing could be right because you left because i'd put other things on my skin and if you were in my veins (you were. you are.) then i really truly did let you out with the other things i put on my skin that opened up my veins and it honest to god is my fault you're gone. honestly, god, i think it was a little unfair to make me fall in love with the boy who's smile left like fault lines and i was so terribly drunk in the beginning but you sobered me up when you left, isn't that right? isn't it right that it's my drunken fault that you left, but you see, my dear, it's always you, in my veins, you ******* ******* absolute ****