The idea of a fat rain drop smacking my shoulder blade is
both wildly unsatisfying and
much sweeter than the slice of a blade across my forearm.
But in the real world
Raindrops don't bruise
don't damage
don't break the skin like my glistening friend can.
I never understood the sad girls,
thick, black eyeliner running down,
who cut.
Until now.
And maybe I haven't yet
Maybe I never will.
But the sting of the knife would be so much more tangible
Than the ache I feel
Every time
I think about how you aren't here.

I still catch your scent on things every so often.
Isn't that dumb?
But they're things that have nothing to do with you.
Like my roommate.
Or a complete stranger.
Or this one corner of my desk.
Not one of your old T shirts
(because you never gave me one).

I hate these strangers and desk corners for smelling like you.
How dare they remind me of such euphoria?
My nostrils fill with the scent of laundry, soap, cotton, and loyalty.
******* loyalty.
My eyes flutter closed
My brain fuzzes
The corners of my mouth turn up slightly
And I expect to see you in front of me
And feel your flannel against my cheek
And your dry, cracking fingers against my palms.
But you aren't there.
I get disoriented for a moment.
I spritz. Sanitize. Breath deeply.
Avoid that stupid desk corner
Because I'm sick of being reminded that I'm still in love with you.

When I don't call for weeks,
remind me of the nights I stayed up
to tell you what love feels like.
Remind me of the way the sun came through the tops of the trees
and hit our twinned-skin as we pedaled through the park.
Remind me of your terrible jokes
(you won't have to).
When I don't want to come home for Christmas,
remind me of all the times you wanted to sit with me
but would never say it.
Of all the things you never understood about me
that I'd never explain (even when you asked)
Like how I cried when we left New York
And why I hated Dad for so long.
Remind me that we're friends.
Remind me that through gritted teeth, clenched fists, and rolling eyes,
I love you

I'm thinking about you a little bit.
Okay, a lot.
Maybe because your lips were the last to touch mine
(6 days ago) (and counting)
Or maybe because you tried to Skype me from your roof last night.
That was sweet of you.
But also
so very representative
of your lack of  l o g i c  &  r e a s o n.
You worry me.
Did you know that?
Maybe.
Maybe I think about you because you're great at ***.
I'd like that to be the reason.
But it isn't.
Because now when I think about you I don't think about *******.
****.
I think about when you kissed me in that stupid deli.
I think about when you danced with me down Boylston.
And how you always tell me to smile
And how, for some reason, that makes me want to frown.
And how being with you makes me want to tell someone I love them.
But not necessarily you…
And how you inspire me to create things. Anything.
Like stream of consciousness poetry. So thank you.
But then again
This didn't turn out very well, did it?

I have you
all the good parts
none of the bad
but I still cry myself to sleep

Why hasn't my reflection grown thinner
Why is nothing fulfilling
Why do my addictions grow
Why do I still feel dead
Why haven't my thoughts turned pretty

Why haven't you fixed me?
Can anyone fix me?

I thought brining you back in would **** all of this
This never-ending sensation that the greatest years of my life are already

Gone.

But it’s all just the same
I’m absolutely blinded by the smiles on every other person’s face and the intense glow from their cheeks and eyes
The wind is knocked from my lungs everyday from the excitement and energy that surrounds me; drains me.
It ***** the life from my limbs and heart and there is nothing left to give to you

I left so many good things behind in hopes of having it all wrapped back up and delivered to me in new and mysterious packages

But all of my boxes and bags have been emptied of any familiarities
They fill with misery and bleak thoughts beneath my bed and my heart

Everyday I feel further and further from finding anything to remove the lump from my throat
And you drift deeper and deeper into a state of being which I feel I will never understand again

How long can we keep up this charade of “forever?”

I've been trying
to convince
myself that I
don't
need anyone
at all.

Just sleep,

and long
intervals
of insanity.