They are strangers now, separated by their worlds and walls.
There is no chemistry, no spark, nothing special.
They are simply strangers, sharing a couch.

One is autumn, one is spring;
one likes talking, and the other? Listening.

If walls could talk, they’d weave a tale so tragic.

In the beginning, he was sun, and she was moon.
At the ending, she was running, but he was leaving.

In the beginning, there are many things.
There is music, and laughter, and broken strings.
They have cooperation, and commitment, and promises.
Her mom gives them glasses, his mom gives them dishes.
She has her charcoals, he has his guitar.

At the ending, close to the ending-
There is his guitar, her laughter, they’ve broken things.
And that is all that is left.

Promises and glasses, dishes and hearts.
A year of trying and losing is written on the walls;
the wallpaper- peeling, the curtains- ripping.

He clears his throat, she stills- hoping.
“I’m sorry,” she hears, and it’s okay.
“I’m sorry,” she hears, “that it’s ended this way.”

I’m sorry, she hears. I’m sorry, that it’s ended this way.
I’m sorry, she hears. That it’s ended this way.

“It’s ended this way?”
“I’m ending it this way.”

i really don't understand why i am this way.
why every day is a struggle, why i have to dredge up
every single ******* positive thought from the parts of my heart
that continue to beat and bleed.

i really don't understand why i can do this.
why i can sling excuses and *******, why i can talk away
every single ******* positive thing that could happen to me when
all i want is something to smile at.

i really don't understand what keeps me here.
what keeps me holding on to you, what makes me think of
every single ******* positive thing you did for me
when there was so much negative.

i really, really don't understand why everything i write
is so angry, so sad, so ******* angsty,
even when i've had a wonderful day and i could swear to you,
i could swear it doesn't hurt anymore.

nothing hurts anymore, and nothing makes me angry.
walk away from everything i felt for you
and everything i did for you
and all the tears i ******* cried for you,
and it won't hurt me, not this time.

i don't know which birds sing in the mornings.
i like sunrises, but only if i haven't been to bed yet.
i like to emerge from my sheets and pillows when the sun is high
and the shadows are gone.
before then, the sun is too young and exuberant
and i have such an old and heartbreakingly tired soul.
the sun was barely over the old church outside your bedroom,
painting the bare walls of your room with the colors of the last supper.
you woke me up, soft and sweet,
like i know you can be, when you put to rest your premature bitterness and apathy.
i don't know how long you lay beside me, the ***** of your feet pressed against my shins,
your pinky finger tracing the freckles on my arm in the same pattern, countless times.
but it was the softest way i've ever woken up, and it reminds me of summer.
it reminds me that bruised does not mean broken,
and even shattered pieces can be reassembled.
it reminds me that there is love everywhere,
and we once had it in the most morning-sun way.

having lived in california until i was seven,
and then moving to virginia beach for one year,
and then living in chesapeake for the rest of my life,
my childhood feels scattered.

i don't remember california all that well.
i remember palm trees lining the streets,
and listening to shania twain with my mom.
i remember the ben & jerry's on a corner,
and i remember the two boxers next door.

i remember two people, too. mostly, anyway.
there's you, jacob. and you, kayla.

jacob, you were my first real friend.
our families were inseparable,
we lived right next door to each other.
we were inseparable too.

i remember digging around in the garden,
that we quickly turned into a mud bog.
i remember you having chicken pox,
and our moms letting us play together.
[funny, i didn't get it until i was nine.]

i remember watching you crash,
all the blood on your dirtbike and face.
i remember visiting your school...first grade.
god, two years seemed like such a huge difference.

i remember throwing you a softball,
and you missed it, and got a ****** nose.
i think that was the first time i felt guilt.

but most of all, i remember that game.
with the dinosaurs, and a big field,
and an even bigger maze inside.
and, of course, your room.
your twin sized bed, and the huge bean bag.
even then we couldn't close the door.

we received your pictures for a long time.
so i feel like i might recognize you on the street.
but not for who you are, really. more of a...
deja vu type of thing, if you will.
i miss you, distantly. but deeply.

and kayla, well.
what i remember most of us...
is the purple jewelry box full of notes.
because you were always grounded.
then i think about making mud pies,
as we sat on the fence between us.
and...unfortunately, that one night.
the raid, and not seeing you again.
hiding the notes, until they stopped.
i think you gave me my first broken heart.
but it's okay, i forgive you. it stopped hurting...
oh, about ten years ago. i think of you, though.
i hope your parents cleaned up,
and i like to think you're happy.

you two represent my innocence.
my childhood. thank you.
i miss it so very much.

i love it when you say
chrysanthemum, pedestrian
aminals, spectacles, nudist and crotch.

i hate it when you say
motherboard, adrenaline
angry, soaking, wrinkles, and rights.

it’s been too long since I heard you say
anything.

every time i have to list one best friend, you're the one.
i've got others, yes. a couple or three.
but you're the one i always think of.

from back in gym class,
to sneaking out at night to the barn,
[you threw a toad at my face.]
to watching ****** horror movies,
to going to the outer banks,
to staying in grandy one weekend,
[just us and our vices for two and a half days]
to spitting on your barn floor just because,
to relying on luck to keep us from the cops.

from watching you get your tongue pierced,
to you coming with me to get all of mine.
from dealing with that boyfriend of yours,
to dealing with...the lack of mine.
from our future moving out plans,
to our rocky horror plans tonight.

that's us.
you're my number one, through and through.
you knew i didn't want to 'talk about it',
back in august,
you just brought me over and let me stand around.
let me listen to you talk.
that's the best thing anyone did,
that simple distraction was all i needed.

it certainly doesn't help that everyone thinks we're sisters,
our love lives parallel in the oddest ways,
and we just have too much fun together.
i can't put into words what you've done for me.
i mean it, when i tell you, "love youuuuu!"
i mean it, when i say, "best friend."

i do, shelby lynn. i do.

someone told me once that i was an all or nothing type of girl.
and they meant it as a compliment, or rather an insult
draped and disguised to look like one.
but it's true, i know this.

and i have locked onto that phrase for years and years.
because i am so afraid to love someone wrong
that i love everyone too much, maybe.
or maybe not ever at all.

i can tell you what a crush feels like, list symptoms and
cross things off on a list one by exciting, miserable
one. but i cannot write on the excitement
of the brush of someone's fingers

or the bone-rattling nerves of an across-the-room glance.
i can't remember what rejection feels like and if
you asked me, i could not properly say
that i care about that anyway.

but i am familiar with this, the anxiety and this yearning.
to talk and laugh and say out loud what was said
to me and oh, however shall i respond?
that's what i'd say.

if i had a crush, anyway. but i am a girl who just...
does things all at once or not at all, and so
i find myself terribly frightened
to feel anything at all.

there are cattails by the water.
she is watching, and she closes her eyes.
the wind caresses her hair, picks it up and lays it back down.
she lies down, and she opens her eyes.

above her, blocking out the sun, blocking
out everything but the scent of sunshine,
the caress of the wind,
and then the gentlest kiss of hesitation.

there's no delicate, politically correct way to say this.
as soon as i saw you leaning against the wall of the bp,
with your pants halfway down your ***,
your wifebeater thrown over your shoulder,
your big brimmed hat on crooked,
and your white skin pockmarked with needle tracks,
i wasn't scared of you, i was disgusted.

my first thought? burned out ******.
my second? just please don't say anything to me.
my third? ****, he's probably looking at my ****** white girl ***.
my fourth? he just opened the door for me.

i think what i said was, "oh! thank you. excuse me."
and i think what you said was, "ain't no thang."
and i saw on your forearm not needle tracks,
but the very same scars that have lined my hips and thighs.

i looked at the sodas, and you pointed out the cheap ones.
"my girl drank three sodas an hour before she passed.
i guess you could call me a cheapskate, but it's worth it."

i was lost for words, so i just thanked you again.
you got in line, asked for the usual. you got your cigarettes.
i bought my soda, and turned around to you holding the door.
i said, "thank you again." and walked away.

i don't know you. i don't know your life.
i don't ever feel bad about making snap judgements.
but you radically changed my view of you in two short minutes.
if there was any way for you to know, i'd like to say i'm sorry.
and thank you...you've inspired me to change.

there will be a day
when the sky will darken and
the clouds will gather and
i will take your hand in mine and
the thunder will rumble and
the lighting will strike and
the clouds will open up and
the rain will pour down and
we will laugh together and
w will run together and
our hair will be ruined and
we won’t care and
we’ll play in the puddles and
we’ll forget we’re too old for that and
our hearts will open up together and
we will finally know who we are meant to be

they say we accept the love we think we deserve
and you need to know that i have spent three years
thinking of your smile, and your laugh, and the touch of your hand, and being held as i sleep
and living for little signs, vague promises,
wasting afternoons, mornings, evenings on you
and i couldn't ever help but feel it was building up to something
but now i know that it was nothing i can really count on
because you could never tell me how you really felt
and i have to admit that now, finally
i am ever so much closer to accepting the love i think i truly deserve
and it isn't yours.

nothing feels any different and nothing has changed
but i feel husked out and full of echoes.
nothing inside me makes any sense
and i can’t bring myself to talk about it
because i don’t understand it,
i can’t make the words make sense in my head and
even if i could i don’t think i’d want to say anything out loud.

i want to crumble collar bones in my hands while i shake from the inside out
and tell my story to a fresh pair of ears, i want to talk but i want to be prompted,
i want someone to know what questions to ask or at least fake it.
i want someone to love me, to just plain old-fashioned love me
and i want to love them in return.

i want to be able to at least entertain the notion that one day i can be somebody’s and.
me and, she came over and, we went out last weekend and,
i just want to be somebody’s and.
i want to be somebody’s distraction.

i whispered, "baby, i need you now more than ever."
i whispered, "i may be the driver, but this car is out of control."
i whispered, "there's nothing for us at the end of this road."

and you said, "crash, bang, smoke."

She asked me to tell her story for you all today.
I wanted to say no, but how do you say no to a dead girl?
I didn’t think you could, either.
So here I am.

But I've been thinking- we all know her story.
You’ve been fed her story by her caring, devoted parents.
So I’m going to tell you my story.

I was with her every step of the way.
[Except when it mattered, except for at the end.]
I was there when her caring, devoted parents called her a liar,
called her a thief, and called her a ****.
[Then lovingly announced it was a character building exercise. ]

I was there when instead of getting help for their daughter
as she repeatedly cut and destroyed her body,
they praised her, bought her new razorblades,
picked up her various painkillers.

Oh yes, her parents are real gems,
ladies and gentlemen.
They were very involved in Jamie’s life.
Always made sure she had
everything she wanted.

You know what?
They spoiled her to death.

Oh, too soon for suicide humor?
My apologies. I guess I’m bitter.
The last thing I need to say is,
Jamie wanted me to thank you all.

She wanted to thank you all for letting her go.

"with endless love, i left you sleeping."
tonight will be the last night of this.
i will not call out to you again.
this isn't giving up, promise.
this is simply moving on.

"now i'm sleeping with you."
it's a fight to let you go.
but, you must leave.
it's different, now.
am i sorry?

"don't wake up."
i don't know.
hi, jamie.

take me with you.

the lights are dim, the sun is setting
a glass of wine, half-empty
casts a lonely shadow on the wall

a clock is ticking
a solemn reminder
of how time keeps running
even if we think we’re running
out

do something for me, okay?
tell my story at my funeral.
you’re gonna want to say no,
but how do you say no to a dead girl?
you can’t say no to me anyway, can you?

that’s my girl.
you never could.
so, will you tell them?
will you tell everyone
the reason i’m this way?

the reason my hands are useless,
sewn onto my wrists for show?
the reason you see me beside you,
femoral artery on display?
the reason my eyes stay glassy,
hyperfocused on nothing at all?

will you tell them of all
the things you were there for,
the things you saw,
the things you heard?
how you were the only witness,
every step of the way?

i think you will.
tell it all.
[we won’t mention that
when i needed you most,
at the end,
you weren’t there for me either.]

why didn’t you help me?
why didn’t you tell anyone about
all my razorblades, all my pills?

they were practically hand-fed to me,
and where were you?

right beside me, but not where you needed to be.
not helping me, only protecting me.
you protected me to death.

oh, did that hurt?
my apologies.
i guess i’m bitter.

anyway, the last thing i wanted to say?
is thank you.

thanks for finally letting me go.

Hush, don’t speak.
Pretty far fall, isn’t it?
It’s the risk you take, though.
Common knowledge, that.
I mean it when I said don’t speak.
Don’t ask questions.
Just inhale, exhale.
Rinse and repeated.
Anyway, as I was saying.
That’s the risk you take.
When you throw your self into something, I mean.
When you throw yourself into something so far you can only fall.
Unless someone’s there to catch you.
Because then I suppose it’s a trip.
Why do you look so scared?
I’m not gonna push you.
Not gonna make you do anything you don’t want to do, anyway.
Yeah, once you start falling, there’s no stopping it.
No no no, you can’t back away.
Oh please, we both know you don’t want to.
Because if I don’t want to, you certainly do.
Don’t you?
I knew it.
See?
I’m too smart for you, probably because I am you.
Yeah, you’ve been listening to yourself talk this whole time.
The entire time you’ve been looking over the side of this bridge.
It’s awfully foggy today, but then again, when is it not?
No one would see you if you fell.
No one to chase after you and scream as you fall.
No one to see me nudge you just…a little…closer.
Ha, I saw that.
I got you.
Scared you.
Don’t be scared, really.
You want this as much as I do.
So do it.
Jump.

i remember the first time we really clicked, you know.
back in seventh grade, a lifetime ago.
part of me says i was sitting on a bed, and you on the floor.
but it might've been the other way around.
i feel like we talked about the sky. but maybe it was the moon?
it doesn't matter, we thought it was deep, something special.
something only the two of us understood.
[i think we were just suffering from exhaustion.
it was awfully early by then.
or awfully late.]

that year was my worst.
yours, too.
seventh grade never treats anyone well.
we stayed friends, carried 'our' notebook to and from class.
took it home on alternating weekends, to stay caught up.
this was back when no one had texting.
we made it through, in one piece.
[our hearts may have been in pieces, however.]

eighth grade rolled around. we shared one class, french 1.
i paid too much attention to you and our lives,
not nearly enough on the class. i scraped by with a b.
[i knew french was only to be admired.
you told me french was mine if i wanted it.]

we were inseperable or distant in high school, due to so many things.
your boyfriend[s]. my catastrophes.
i lived my days defending you,
and my nights crying because of you.
i never felt good enough in your eyes.

eventually, i changed.
you changed too, but you just got older.
i matured. i grew stronger.
i stopped taking **** from people.
yes, even you.

but we're at a point where we can be friends.
or friendly, if you prefer.
but also not acknowledge each other in the hall.

your tattoo, it reads, "stay gold, ponyboy."
and when i saw it, i cried.
i cried for every time we watched that together.
every time we won't see it together.
you were a good friend to me, even with your faults.
you forced me to grow and change or die trying.
and i can't thank you enough.

[your sarakan loves you, loved you.]
i do miss you, but i can't handle having you back.
stay gold, beautiful meadow.
you better stay ******* gold.

apologies from you are unheard of.
so when you apologized, i was shocked.
i immediately forgave you. i felt so relieved.
because, brandon...when we're on point, we're on point.
you're either nothing to me, or one of my favorite people.

i know which one i prefer, but it's so hard.
you're so abrasive, and i don't roll over and take it anymore.
i've changed a lot, and i don't want to be treated badly anymore.
i've told you before i love you, and i mean it. you just hurt me, a lot.

i'm sorry you don't approve of some of my actions.
just please trust me, i know what i'm doing.
i have my reasons. i'm doing the best i can.
i don't like disappointing you, but i have no choice.
this is who i am now, and if you don't want to be friends, well.
i won't understand. i won't like it. i won't say it's okay.
but i'll accept it, like i accepted your apology. carefully, but quickly.

the apology even hurt, because of what you followed it with.
i threw the apology and the forgiveness away, until today.
but i talked to your mom, and she reminded me of who you really are.
and i miss him, so i'm throwing away the **** we've said lately.
i'm wiping our slate clean, in my head.
will you accept it?

i wonder, did it ever cross your mind
to wonder how it felt to give my heart to you?
how it felt to break down my walls and bare my soul?

yeah, okay.
i admit that may have been a bit dramatic.
but i think that's just how it was with you.
i felt every word, every laugh, every smile
[and, truthfully, every carefully platonic touch.]
just a little too much to suit my cowardly self.

the thing is, everything you came from
[and everything you brought me, too]
was always just a little too much for me.
oh, but you know how much i like it when it hurts.

so, i let those walls fall down and i bared my soul.
i asked for nothing more than you could give,
and i gave you everything i could give in return.

but now, i suppose you never told me one thing.
you felt i wanted something more from you,
enough to take away the thing that made you smile.

but god, you know me better than the things you accused me of.
how many times and in how many words had i wished not for you,
but for the happiness i knew you deserved?

there is only so much i can say,
and even little that i can do,
to make things different.

and i have nothing left to give, anyway.
my heart is tired of beating, and my soul?
it's just tired of being pushed around.

so i'll back myself in a corner,
and watch the world pass by.
pray for you to forgive me and, maybe,
stop by and say hi.

Dear legal codependents,

I am not my daddy’s girl.
I am not my mom’s best friend.
It’s not my choice, it’s who I am.
Have you ever stopped to think, perhaps,
That maybe one of those people you so harshly judge
Is sitting across from you- your own flesh and blood?
How can you love me anymore?
According to you, I’m just a *****.
Abomination, miscreation, I love you, I disgust you, I know.
You’ve lost a daughter, she’s moving on.

Sincerely- your daughter, your first born, your pride.
Sincerely- bisexual, immoral, criminal me.

it's been eight months already
and i could still trace the scars
that danced up your arms as
your hands danced across
my body.

it's been eight months already
and although i hardly knew you
your every kiss breathed life back
into me.

it's been eight months already
and i still don't know what
i was looking for but i found it
in the rise and fall of
our bodies.

it's been eight months already
since you picked up my pieces
and melted them together with
the heat and the passion i saw
in you.

thank you, stranger, for saving me
from myself.

you know what i'm thinking about, now.
it was too hot outside to do much of anything,
and my car was on low fuel anyway.
[but i bet you didn't know that.]

and i hadn't slept the night before,
and i was ready to tell you that i...
i simply couldn't do this anymore.
but i knew how you felt about running away.

so i stayed, *******, i stayed.
and we ate ice cream with our fingertips,
and never spoke aloud what we felt as we did it.
has silence ever spoken so loud, bbluv?

and in fragments i remember our movie,
and the whole time i wanted to be closer.
so i sat on the floor, and you in your chair,
and wondered if you even noticed me there.

and then i remember hours and hours of night,
being irresponsible and [occasionally] flirty.
but we had to get up in the morning,
so we tried to stop our endless flow of words.

and i remember calling you after i wrecked my world,
and i paced around the house in my barefeet,
and whispered what happened, what i was afraid of.
i remember you mentioning my drunk texts, too.

and yes, i remember slurpees and wasting time inside.
not because it was hot ouside,
but because i just didn't want to leave.
i didn't get anything else done that day.

and i remember the feel of your bed, your pillow,
so different from the couch i had been sleeping on.
and i remember this look in your eyes, and i...
didn't know what it meant, at the time.

and, you know, i wish you weren't sorry.
for driving me away, i mean. that's okay.
but the way you did it tore me apart.
i'll be way too honest here and say it changed me.

i kept waiting for it to hit me,
day after day after ******* day.
you weren't coming back, not ever.
but still i waited, and still i wait.

and then, at the show, there was nothing.
i don't even know if you noticed me.
and that hurt me more than anything.
but i know i liked that your shirt was different.

and i also know i could understand.
because you said that last time,
and i got it, didn't i? i got it.
so don't tell me i won't. just don't.

tell me you miss our slurpees,
and you miss sweating by your pool,
just to delay my leaving a little bit.
even if it meant our legs got soaked.

and then you have to tell me this:
you don't want anything back, and
you don't want anymore late nights,
and you don't want anymore desperate phone calls.

and then i'll let it alone, and be okay.
and i can say this honestly.
because i know you, and i know...
it simply won't happen that way.

"but we both know this won't happen.
because i don't know goodbyes,
and i don't know severed ties."
i know you don't, so stop pretending you do.

you know, you're wrong about something.
you're excellent at leaving. you just **** at staying away.
but is that because, maybe,
you don't want to stay away from me?

so embrace october,
november, and december.
we'll exchange pumpkin pictures,
and costumes too.

we'll send pictures of thanksgiving,
and complain later we ate too much.
and we'll send anonymous presents,
and detail our new year's eve.

and then, what do you know?
we'll have come full circle.
and maybe, just maybe,
this will be yet another year of snow.

You've got that stupid, capricorn smile.
Those dazed, half-moon eyes.
You remind me of honeysuckle, but...
you smell like lies.

A second glance is all it took to make me bend and break.
I took a step into your waiting arms,
and there was nothing waiting for me.
Just some soot and ashes from your charred, saddened soul.
Just some whispered confessions from when you lost control.

A simple touch is all it took to make me tremble and shake.
You make me sick to my stomach,
and deep in my bones.
It's like the sweetest dessert, laced with aspartame.
It's like I'm craving nothing but the air you breathe.

I always knew you were the one who made me feel so alone.
I just never knew it would be okay to feel alone without you.
I know I could never forget you.
But god, what if I could?

There is something about regret.
There is something about guilt.
There is something about honesty.

You lose the first two,
when you gain the second.

So my sleepless nights,
and my melancholy days,
have vanished.

I'd rather die than live a lie.
I've always been told honesty is the best policy,
but I guess that only applies when you want to hear it.

And it's funny,
but there hasn't been any tears this time.

i see you.

once:
in the way the light filters through the blinds.

twice:
at sunrise, soft and gray and tired, fingertipped conversations.
at sunset, languid and creaking, bones and skin and heavy eyelids.

three times:
in cemeteries, reading between the lines of nervous laughter and laced fingers.
in passenger seats, spinning tires while we spun out the sun with conversation.
on empty pages, aching for a way to get rid of a year’s worth of words.

i'm sinking like a stone in the sea.
i'm burning like a bridge for your body.
it used to be the reason i breathed but now
it's choking me up.
[die young and save yourself.]
she hits the lights- this doesn't seem quite fair.

and we won't let you in.
we don't want what isn't ours.
we won't let you in.
you win,
you win,
you win.

this is the grace that only we can bestow.
this is the price you pay for loss of control.
this is the break in the bend,
this is the closest of calls.

gave up my body and bed, all for an empty hotel.
wasting words on lower cases and capitals.
i lie for only you, and i lie well.
you are second hand smoke; you are so fragile and thin.
standing trial for your sins, holding onto yourself.
[the best you can.]

you are the smell before rain.
you are the blood in my veins.
call me a safe bet. i'm betting I'm not.
i'm glad that you can forgive-
i'm only hoping as time goes, you can forget.

in a car outside, we stalk the idle kind.
if you're leaving, just let me know.
tobacco and peppermint, dusting for fingerprints.
a film in her eyes from the glow.
some rules are made with all intentions to break
[and she defends it with a warped rationale.]

i've got desperate desires and unadmirable plans, and
my tongue will taste of gin and malicious intent.
if i could i would shrink myself and
sink through your skin to your blood cells and
remove whatever makes you hurt but
i am too weak to be your cure.

i'll speak my mind whenever I feel slighted.
i am hellbent on extracting all of my revenge.
take heart, sweetheart, or i will take it from you.
i spoke the words but never gave a thought to what they all could mean.

i know that this is what you want; a funeral keeps both of us apart.
you know that you are not alone.
need you like water in my lungs.
this is the end.

so *******, honestly. because until tonight i thought i felt okay, but i think i’m lonely.

my heart sticks to the walls of my chest and i’m thankful for the cold because it means i can wear mittens and have an excuse for the spaces between my fingers to be empty.

it’s a quarter after three in the morning, and i miss you.
and i don’t even know who i’m talking to, really.

but that’s kind of the problem, too. i’m not talking to anyone.
everyone’s sleeping, and i’d be sad but i don’t want to be sad anymore.
so i sing to my dog for an hour and do some laundry, and wonder where my words went.

and soon i’ll take a shower, and soon i’ll go to bed,
and soon you’ll wake up and not think of me.
and that’s okay, because as strangers, i have no place in your life.

and as strangers, you have no place in my heart or in my head.
but you, you are everywhere else. and that’s kind of the problem, too.

but i guess i understand why they say lonely people are always up in the middle of the night, because i am. because until tonight i thought i felt okay, but i think i’m lonely.

i'm not sure i know your name yet.
and if i do, i probably won't realize it for awhile.
but thank you, whoever you are,
for giving me my favorite memory.

i'm sure it's beautiful.
and meaningful, too.
i wonder if it's sunset or midnight,
or maybe the day has just begun.

perhaps the sky is cloudless,
or maybe there's a storm rolling in.
maybe it's november, and the leaves are falling down.
or maybe august, when the air is heavy and the heat is solid.

maybe you're someone from my past,
or maybe you're someone from my future.
hell, you could even be someone from my present.
but i kind of refuse to really, truly believe that.

just like i kind of refuse to really, truly believe
that i'll run across the type of love i see in the eyes of my friends.
just like the type of love i used to see in the eyes of another,
just like the type of love i would like to see again.

i guess what i'm trying to say is i don't have a favorite memory.
my favorite memories have been stained and tainted.
i'm terrified to make more. so what i guess i'm saying is,
stay away from me, whoever you are. i don't want your memory.

nothing golden can shine forever.

every single word you say weighs more than i can take.
every single phrase is laced with poison.
every question mark, exclamation point, semicolon? razor blades.

and i've never been the strong one.
that always fell on your shoulders.
and i've never been one to pick at scabs.
i hate the mess.

so i'll just lay here, and bleed all over your floor.
your favorite color is red,
and i know you like me dead.
so i'm doing you a favor, really.

you're welcome.

what do you say to someone
to tell them everything you feel
when they were the reason behind
your words for years?

how do you say i love you
and happy birthday
and please don't leave me
and you mean everything to me
and you are still the reason behind my words
without it sounding trite or desperate?

it's been four years and i still don't know.
but i love you, please don't leave me.
you mean everything to me.
happy birthday.

i'm so tired of being a joke.
and i'm so tired of.
everything.

stop hurting me.
i do my best, always.
it's tearing me apart.

you can't see me crying.
and i'm not going to tell.
but i can't seem to stop.

i love you, too much.
*******, i don't want to care.
nothing makes sense.

especially when you.
when you can't.
can't remember anything.

i don't think i love you right,
and maybe i don't even love you at all.
because there's something in you so sick
and all-consuming that there's no room for anything else.
you are an all-seasons grinch,
ready with a bitter wit and a heart three sizes too small.
and that's supposed to be funny and timely
because in three hours it will be christmas
(and all i want for christmas is never having had you)
but it falls so flatly from my fingertips onto these keys.
and i don't even know what season it was when
you kissed me but i remember it didn't matter
and if i could do it again, i'd kiss you back.
but i don't love you and you sure as hell
don't love me and i can live with that
and i will always wonder why?
i've made a terrible mistake with you,
and i will always wonder what it was.

but i wonder, did i ever return?
i love you both, and can never
not even if all of our dreams
came true five, ten, fifteenfold
repay you for all you have done.
but i need a bigger knife, now.
to cut the tension and to saw
out a hole just for me to see
that i can breathe, if i step out.
out from the inner circle, this
circle of ******* truth,
that you granted me access to
and similarly ****** me to.
the pressure is too great, your
expectations are too high for me.
i cannot hold this family up;
certainly hold it together.
i won't be running away again but
please stop making me wish i would.

I remember the look on your face
when you told me about your first time.
How it was messy and frantic and hot,
and not in the romantic way.

How all he said was, “My friend’s got something,” and left.
Left you lying there, frozen in your drying sweat,
wondering..."What's he got?

Left you bare, vulnerable against the world,
against the war raging inside your head.
“He was a Costco shopper, his friend,”
you will tell me between sips of gin.

I remember the first burn of whiskey,
as you poured it into your hand...
and let me lick it off.
Not in the romantic way.

All you said was, "It's supposed to burn.
That's how you know you're alive."
I wondered what it'd feel like to die.

You left me bare, vulnerable and bleeding,
lying there with whiskey on my breath,
while you waged a war on your body.
"This is how I know I'm alive."

They are strangers now, swinging back and forth.
There are no fireworks, not of the romantic kind.
They are simply strangers, at a park.

One is a daredevil, one is shy;
One likes the merry-go-round, and the other? The swings.

If stars could talk, they’d prophesize such a love story.

In the beginning, she was running, and he was chasing.
At the ending, he was laughing, but she was crying.

In the beginning, there aren’t many words.
Just tickles, and shouts, and blushing cheeks.
Rips in shorts, grass stains on shirts. Promises, too.
Promises of, “If you won’t tell my mom, I won’t tell yours.”

At the ending, close to the ending, she is tired.
So he pushes her on the swing, makes her laugh.
And then he makes her fall.

So she pushes him around and around,
around and around on the merry-go-round.
And when she doesn’t stop, when he falls,
he calls her a name she’s never heard of.

“You’re nothing but a bully,”
followed with, “Well, you’re…
you’re nothing but a *****.”

You’re nothing, she hears. You’re nothing but a *****.
You’re nothing, he hears. You’re nothing but a bully.
“How do you know that word?” As they walk, side by side.

“My dad calls my mom that on Saturday nights,”
as they walk, hand in dirt-covered hand.
“At least I didn’t swing a bottle at you.”

and if i close my eyes tonight,
just to see your face,
it certainly won't be the first.
and it certainly won't be the last.

and if i slow my breathing,
if i calm my pounding heart,
i promise i will listen to you,
to all your *******, start to stop.

and you'll tell me everything,
everything i know and don't.
but i've heard it all before;
tonight is no different from the last.

i swear to god i love you more in death,
i love you more as this fictional corpse,
than i could have ever loved you alive.

and i swear to god you're beautiful.
and i swear to god you're all mine.
but you had a face your mother didn't even love.
i'd have loved you enough for the both of us.

well, i'll be honest.
i don't remember the last person i made a pinky promise to.
and that makes me feel so, so lonely.

lonely like the smallest puppy must feel when he can't play with his brothers and sisters.
lonely like the first star in the sky at night.
lonely like my hand without yours in it.

i want someone to pinky promise.
i want someone to live for.
i want someone to wake up thinking of me.

god, it's so hard to be honest with myself.
i've nothing else to say.

robbie-

i think that's your name, anyway.
i should feel bad about that, maybe.
but i don't, because you don't know mine.
you and your chocolate eyes made me smile.
those long eyelashes of yours made me blush.
that leering mouth of yours made me think.
it made me think i'd have a chance, without him.
it made me think i could have someone that wasn't him.
and i thank you for that.

our walk around the mall and to the pet store?
nothing short of miraculous.
you made me smile and laugh and say things like,
"well, i guess it's a date then, isn't it?"
you made me realize there was more to this world
than him and me and our collective issues.

and when i told you i'd meet you,
i really planned on it. i really did.
because we clicked, and i felt it.
and god, i know you did too.
but things came up, and i...
well, i was misbehaving.

i regret not meeting you.
i've never seen you again.
sometimes i wonder if you're real.
but then i remember fingertips,
exploring the small of my back,
as we hugged goodbye.

i've never hugged a stranger before.
i told you i was single, and i felt i was.
i'm sorry my heart didn't hold on to that.
i'm sorry i never found out what was hiding,
what was hiding behind your chocolate eyes.

it's been four years,
give or take.

i still drive down streets at night,
see one [or many] go out,
smile, and think of you.

i remember you telling me,
"when i die, i want to have control...
over something mundane, over a
small thing no one would notice."

i said you were crazy for planning
that kind of futuristic *******.
"you'll change your mind,
by the time you die."
that's what i said.

you died two years later, and ****.
**** if you didn't have control.
two years after that, i saw it.
a streetlight clicked off right as i drove beneath it.
it happened at the next one, the next one...
and at the next one? only a flicker.

you always loved ******* with me.

it's been two years since the first light,
but four years since you took control,
and didn't even say goodbye.

it's been four years, and i've lost track.
i've lost track of sips and blinks and tears.
all i can seem to keep track of now...
is how many streetlights go out in a row.

five.

brian, sweetheart.

i'm sorry nothing ever seems to help.
i'm sorry i'm not a better friend.
i know i've promised to try harder,
but you need to stop trusting me.

you've stopped calling.
you've stopped texting.
and **** if i don't miss you.
i'll hold my tongue, however.

i won't let myself reply to your, "heya."
and i won't let myself answer your phone calls.
because i know there is nothing i can do for you.
because i know talking to me will make it worse.

so take your pills, and talk to sherry.
fix things with amy, and go back to school.
start sleeping again, hang out with nathan more.
get yourself a ******* job, okay?

you know i love you dearly.
and i do this for your own good.
don't stop calling, texting.
i won't ever answer, but.

i like to know you're still alive.
i like to know you're pushing through.
i like to know you're holding on, at least.
can you do that, for me? please?

Hey, Cass.

I’m doing this letter challenge. A letter a day for thirty days.
That’s a third of our whirlwind summer.
Today’s topic is, “someone you miss the most”.
And at first, I didn’t think of anyone.
You weren’t even in the list of possible people.
But something triggered something, and you sashayed your way into my head.
And you’ve been stuck there for awhile.
So, this will be about you. Because now that I’m thinking of you, I miss you.
I miss you so much there’s a hole in my chest where my heart belongs.
I spent all of sixth grade on the other side of Professor’s classroom.
I watched you and the boys simultaneously befriend and annoy everyone.
Except me. I don’t know how, but I couldn’t feel anything either way.
Except when we started writing in English class. I don’t know.
I don’t remember much of what you wrote, except it was dark and scary and…
I loved it.
You had the best way of taking the nastiest words and making them beautiful.
I don’t remember the details, though. Isn’t that strange?
You did always tell me to look at the big picture. I’m still working on that.
And, anyway, nothing much happened until the birthday party.
The surprise one, where Amy picked up all the guests one by one from their houses for breakfast.
Sort of a reverse surprise party, and I told you, “this is the only surprise party I’ve ever had.”
And you tactfully reminded me it wasn’t for me, and I told you, “it’s close enough.”
We went to breakfast, and talked about how creepy the indoor balcony was, you know which one.
The one with the chain hanging over the edge. We shared a glance, and I knew we had to talk.
So we did. The entire day, we talked and talked and talked. Antisocial as they come, the both of us.
You almost convinced your mom to let you stay the night, but no. You left for Tennessee the next day.
That night, I pieced together and guessed the letters of your screen name.
[It had melted mostly off my arm by then.]
I found you, right as you found me. We both said, “found you,” at the same time.
We always connected in the most creepy ways.
And anyway,  we talked all that night. And the next. And the next.
I skipped sleepovers and birthdays and we talked our way through the summer.
I learned so much about you, from you. Too much.
And then you started cutting. And cutting. And cutting.
And then you went away for two weeks. I missed you so much it hurt to breathe.
You came back, and actually called me. I hadn’t heard your voice in two months.
Except for in my head, anyway. You told me how the asylum was.
“It’s the most beautiful place in the world, Sarah. I’ve never been so happy.”
We both agreed it was probably the drugs, and we laughed in our somber way.
You started writing more, and talking less.
You started cutting more, and smiling.
I just stopped altogether. School had started again.
I was talking to your ex-boyfriend’s best friend, and it seemed like he took your place.
Then one night, you weren’t there at all. Two weeks, I waited.
I called your house. Your number was disconnected.
I spent hours and hours and hours rereading our conversations.
I was scared of you, the absence of you.
But I was scared of us, too. You ****** me in, like quicksand.
But I never even knew. I’ve never seen you again.
Never spoken to you again.
I can’t explain our relationship to anyone.
The only one who understood what I couldn’t explain was your ex.
And well, I don’t like him anyway. So I pushed you away.
Very successfully, I hadn’t thought of you in years.
Until this letter, until these two girls who remind me of you.
They **** me in like quicksand, too. One of them’s gone already.
One of them is going to leave. And I’m so, so scared of all of you.
But god, Cassie, our entire summer was based on our fears.
So I guess you’d be proud.
Wherever you are, darkest angel, I do miss you.
I think, maybe I might have loved you. But we’ll never know.
Dance with your demons, and make sure you lead.
Don’t be afraid to step on their toes.

-Your favorite demon.

I have learned three things in life.
I have lost three things in life.

Faith- a curtain to hide behind, crutches to hold me up.
Faith- a broken record of lies and hypocrisy, when I threw it away I could stand alone.

Hope- an intangible thing of optimistic beauty.
Hope- pessimism is so much safer.

Love- promises, worries, caring, blind, deaf and dumb, not even minding.
Love- remember the memories, throw away the promises, don’t cross those lines.

I now look for these three things in life.

uncle harley-

i don't even know where you are right now.
you don't even know the person i am right now.
but i miss you, because you lit up my childhood.
i remember your jeep, and getting stuck in the mud.
all those hills are covered in condominiums now.
i remember my sister sitting on your shoulders,
patting your head over and over.

but that was a long time ago.
hell, you might not even be bald now.
you might not even have a motorcycle anymore.
but, you know, you'll always be uncle harley.
you should stop by and visit.
i think you'd be proud of who i've become.

you taught me ABC order.
you taught me to rollerblade.
you taught me about limp bizkit.
you taught me the words to "danger zone".

you gave me my first taste of anger,
gave me my first feelings of terror.
how anyone could feel so much, all at once,
and let it out at something so mundane,
[your punching bag]
and still scare me so much is beyond me.

you gave me my first taste of alcohol.
miller lite, and i hated it.
you made me drink more, because well,
"it's an acquired taste, you know, like wine."
in later years you'd say the same of ***.

i still don't know how i let it happen, really.
one minute we were friends,
and no one really knew how close.
the next minute your hand was in my pants,
and that's the last place i wanted it.

in the next minute we're on the phone,
you somehow got my number.
you're apologizing, and crying.
i've never heard you cry before,
"what the hell is going on, a?"

give you a second chance? to do what?
to apologize? you never had a first chance.
meet you where? when? tonight?
"you know i can't do that."
then again, if you're leaving in the morning.
just this once, for you. i need the closure.

i still feel like i asked for it,
i don't know if that will ever change.
in the middle of the night, still,
i wake up, convinced i'm bleeding.

soaking through my sheets just like that night.
it stains my skin in a way that will never wash off.
the glint on your knife from the moon that night?
leaves a scar that will never fade away.
unlike the one on my thigh. it's gone now.

you took so much from me.
you took my innocence,
and i'm not just talking virginity.
every single person i look in the eye,
i can see potential.
the potential for destruction.

we are none of us born good or evil.
some of us are just good, with evil tendencies.
you, though. you're something else.
evil, with sadistic tendencies.
you're a ******* monster.

but i have nothing to say to you anymore.
i wish you nothing but the worst.
[i hope your **** hurts where i bit it.]
and i hope you hear my screams when you sleep,
every
single
night.

it was tracks left by fingernails that started it.
teasing moans, broken and hushed.
a slip of skin between shirt and shorts.
a flippant, "you know you want me."
that's what started it.

i pressed a kiss to that special place,
where neck and shoulder meet.
you left your own mark,
nestled between the lines i carved.

it was the twists of our hands that ended it.
it was a whiplash of a cry when it was over.
high and reedy and out of control,
sharp and gorgeous.

it echoed through my blood,
reverberated into my veins.
[in fact, i think it still does.]
my heart pumped in time with yours,
our hips rose and fell,
that's what ended it.
left us both boneless,
left us both shaking,
left the eight ball rolling across the table,
colliding with the last stripe, orange.
[your favorite color.]

"i win," you breathed.
"you spoke to soon," i whispered,
"the eight ball fell first."

oh, and we were so close, too.