when the flowers began to bloom, i watched as you grew the same ones
inside of my belly. and then they began to wilt--i waited as you forgot
to water them. don't you remember? "you make me the happiest
i have ever been." these are my notes from nights unslept, where i tossed,
turned, and ached for you. scribbles in the margin that
reminded me why not even my worst enemy deserved to have a knife
twisted in the very ***** that she cherished. i trusted you and you became my rinse and repeat. good thing i finally spit you out.

i'll take this to the grave with me: my diary perception of you,
of your gentle hands and gentle heart, of your kind eyes and
the smile that released butterflies into my chest. of your sticky-note reminders:
"i love you." say it again. "i love you." louder, for the ones in the back.
"i love you but it's different now." you've become another name on my list,
unwillingly written and dated. spring of 2016, here lies the one who pieced it back together only to break it all again.

i fell for you like leaves of an oak tree in a southern autumn--
a little at first. slowly. one at a time. and then suddenly,
all at once. i tripped on my own shoelaces, forgetting
that the bunny hops around the bend and jumps through
the loop because the sound of your voice became the soundtrack
to my thanksgiving. bites of turkey, the smell of pie,
and the tiniest piece of you warm up my belly.

the leaves are changing colors the same way i change my mind--
green, then orange, yellow, brown, and back to green. you were my green,
but i couldn't just stay at yellow. "i'm your rock." say it again.
sturdy, stable, grounded. when i'm going at a mile a minute,
i wait for the rock to fall and trip me, like an untied shoelace.
i am a balloon floating in an october sky and you are the pole i am tied to,
so don't let go. i wouldn't know which way to fly, but ****, i'll go far.

we've become a collection of bucket lists.
hypothetical "let's do this", "let's be here",
and "i'll go wherever you go."
but instead of marking minutes,
i'm marking miles. 3 states, 2 time zones,
and sometimes, an ocean apart.

but oh, my dearest, don't you know?
even when i'm here and you're there,
the sun still shines. the moon gets me home,
and every step i take is a step closer to you.

to my darling johnny, when your heart is weary,
when the days are brown and your eyes are tired,
rest easy. a parade is waiting for you. there is no
sadder, scarier, or more heartbreaking feeling than
loneliness. but dear john, you are never alone.

when days and days have passed and silence becomes
our preferred form of communication, your letters will come.
the bucket lists will turn into sticky-note reminders that someone
has you planted in her heart and allowed flowers to grow.

you won’t realize you’re falling in love with him, but you will. it’ll come slowly at first, and then all at once and you’ll be stumbling straight into his arms trying to regain your balance. i don’t know if you ever will regain that balance though because he’ll keep you steady. he’ll hold you close and he’ll make sure that you don’t hurt yourself. but just because he’s watching out for your every step doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t watch out for his. don’t hold onto him too tightly–use gentle hands. he’s a lot more sensitive than he’ll admit, and he’s got this uncanny awareness for his surroundings. tell him that you love him, often. remind him that he’s special to you, because he will get lost in his head and he will try to shut you out. his heart is a fragile, timid ***** but it’s huge. it’s larger than anyone else’s you’ll ever see. so don’t be afraid of how big his heart is–but never forget that it’s easily cracked. carry bandages with you at all times, because you will injure it. and when you do, apologize sincerely and use careful fingers to heal the wounds. you’ll be grateful of its size because you will never meet anyone who will look at you with as much love as he will. have patience with him–words have never been his forte so he may probably never on his own tell you what’s on his mind. ask him questions, but do so with kindness. he’ll be afraid to let you in, but as i said, have patience. once you get past the wall he’s hiding behind, the effort will be worth it. always, always, always remember to hold his hand. it’ll remind him not to let go and that you’re there to stay. love him with everything you’ve got. love him fearlessly. love him in all the ways that he never let me.

and if he ever runs away from you, forgive him.

i have spent days hiding in shadows
closets, behind stacks of boxes, where
light only comes in when someone remembers
something that they've forgotten--

i crave that 25 percent of sunshine, of
being told "you're alright" or if i'm lucky,
"you're not bad to be around" because then
i know that sitting in the dark was worth it.

i keep a mantra in my head--
broken toys get fixed. broken toys get found.
broken toys get loved just as much as if they weren't broken.
i repeat it over and over and over, waiting for that crack of light.

first, choose a victim.
whether you spot her across the rowdy bar,
swiping right at 2am with a heart full of poison,
or knock your knuckles together reaching for the same coffee,
choose her wisely.

second, ****** her.
tell her that her eyes are the ocean you've always wanted to drown in,
that holding her was the greatest thing your arms could ever do,
and that she's your light at the end of the tunnel.
****** her until she can't help but gravitate towards you.

third, forget the plan.
gone are the days of prowling on street corners and alleys,
replace them with echoes of her laughter and the softness of her skin,
allow your victim to be the blood in your veins--
as soon as she becomes a part of you, remember it again.

fourth, execute the ******.
when her guard is down and her chest rises with slow breaths of trust,
rip the bandaid off. watch the blood gush. mute the sounds of her cries,
feel your knife pierce through her heart and twist it before yanking it out--
leave her there and run.

i. right before you fall asleep, there's a twitch in your shoulder like you're actually falling--your face turns up into a goofy grin that lets me know you're gone, and the lucky ones who get to see you are those in your dreams.

(i'll see you in mine.)

ii. radiohead. pink floyd. chromeo. a drum set that echoes through an empty house but the neighbors haven't moved in yet so you have your one man band until the rooms fill up with furniture and the only echo left is the soft plucking of your guitar at midnight.

(there are certain types of songs i can't listen to without thinking about you.)

iii. how could you be so heartless? we'd start our day at noon and wouldn't end it until three in the morning and kanye would be our soundtrack as we trekked across the city we love--

(and fell in love).

iv. your smile. your lips. each curve in your back. the sound of your laugh. your eyes. your walk (your posture, your stance, your aura). the flip of your hair. the way your hand searches for mine--

(and maybe one day we'll find our way back to each other like the way my hand always finds yours).

v. my inner monologue every time i see you: what a wonderful person, and how lucky am i to have met you. thank you for helping sunflowers grow inside of me.

(i'm sorry i can't be your person but when you find her one day, i hope you'll plant a whole garden for her.)

vi. we were made up of bad jokes, song lyrics, good beer, fireworks, movie nights, outdoor concerts, tacos, spreadsheets, *******, "you've made me the happiest i've ever been", "we're really good together", sing-alongs, belly ripping laughter and hearts full of love in the heat of a texas summer. we're just two lost souls swimming in a fishbowl.

vii. i swiped right on the one that got away.