learn to love her so that when she smiles at you, it feels like your whole world is bursting with freshly bloomed flowers,

learn to love her so that when you hold her, you remember that there are things in this life that should never be broken,

learn to love her so that the sound of her voice is the only background noise you want to fall asleep to,

learn to love her so that she becomes the reason you wake up, the reason you check your phone every thirty seconds, the reason your mom asks you why you're grinning so much,

learn to love her so that those walls you meticulously built up for yourself come crumbling down the minute she bats her eyelashes at you--

learn to love her in all the ways you never loved me.

“i’m ticklish. but don’t take that to heart.”

“okay.”

“i mean it, don’t remember it.”

“already forgotten.”

“glad we’re on the same page.”

“we’ve been on that page since we first met.”

-

i want to get so drunk that i can’t remember my own first name and my face starts to feel so numb that i forget where i am, what i’m doing, where i’m going, and who you are. but i’m too scared to lose control.

-

my best friend keeps a list of all of my bad decisions. i haven’t made a good one yet. she showed it to me today and i felt an overwhelming sadness for all of my could-have-beens.

-

i hate happy people because i’m so unbearably unhappy that seeing someone else happy makes me feel like there’s a forest fire spreading through my insides.

-

i think i’m lonely because i’m alone most of the time, but even when someone is holding my hand, i can’t seem to hold onto it in return.

-

i spend my days kissing frogs and dreaming of princes but i am a myriad of last first dates.

-

“i’ve been missing you a little lately."

-

you’ve become a void i’m trying to fill.

don't text me.

when it's 4 in the morning and you're tossing and turning but you can't sleep because your heart aches for the place next to you to be filled with a warm body,
don't text me.

when you're downing shot after shot and the girl who's *** your free hand is grabbing sends you home with nothing more than a kiss and night of headache inducing regrets,
don't text me.

when you're scrolling through your photos and the light from your iphone blinds you from the picture of me wrapped up in your jacket with the sleeves too long and the shoulders too large that causes your chest to pound,
don't text me.

when your hand is holding hers and the realization hits you that it feels like lead instead of the softness you were accustomed to because that hand is not the same one that hugged you when you couldn't hold the world's weight anymore,
don't text me.

i won't answer.

i miss the sound of your voice.
the rain against my window almost suffices for tonight--
i'm a little drunk but i count the miles between us like a mantra;
take i-20e to us 190. take exit 19. for 506 miles, don't look back.
we are directions on a map with a destination to each other.

i'm calling because sometimes i forget what mile i'm on.

when i'm done with miles, i start counting days--
65 days until i see you next, 23 days since i've seen you last,
and on the 27th day, you told me you loved me.
if love was a garden of sunflowers on a dallas spring morning,
if love was a crawfish boil on a new orleans summer night,
then i'd spend every minute falling in love with you.

i never run out of things to say but my gas is running on empty,
and i've still got 3 more hours to go because
i accidentally missed you so much that my foot stepped on the pedal
and instead of turning left, i turned right since going home
meant going straight to you. i only meant to grab lunch,
but i had to have you by supper.

the last thing i wanted to tell you before i tell you what i really need
to tell you is that i'm not afraid anymore; no longer afraid of
unlocking this heart and throwing it miles and miles away with nothing
but a good pair of pants and a folded up address in its pockets.

the address is yours, so open up. i'm here.

someone asked me who i was
with a smile, i said:
as of february i am
not a man, not a son
not a brother nor a human

i am a collection of memories
that you had given me, stories
of you laughing on that summer
night and the tears you cried
when your best friend left—
i am an anthology of poetry
you never read, not because
you didn’t like it but because
you were the rhythm in the core

someone asked me who i was
and i told them that
i wanted to be yours

I’ll talk about the way I’ll never let you step into a puddle again. When it’s raining out, don’t forget to call me. I’ll rush to your side and carry you on my back—don’t ruin your shoes because of a little bit of water. When you’re hungry, tell me what you’re craving—I like to read cookbooks during my spare time just to keep up with your taste buds. I’ll write you letters if we’re ever apart—to my love, from your love. Three, two, one, I’ll count down the seconds to your birthday and surprise you with a cake I worked meticulously on the night before while I suggested you go out with your friends. When you come home, the house will be clean and your bath will be running. I can take care of you—I can’t take care of myself very well, but scout’s honour that I learned how to treat diamonds during my time in boy scouts. When the sun is setting and it’s time to retreat to bed, don’t forget to sleep in my arms; I wait all day for the moments where I get to hold you. Have I ever told you how much I like to watch you sleep? Sometimes you adopt the softest snore and you always, always, always wrap your body around mine as if you were afraid I would leave. What you don’t know is how afraid I am that I would wake up and you wouldn’t be there—well, I’m awake now.

And you’re not there anymore.

i.*
She's beautiful. She's an angel. She's everything we asked for.* I cried for the hopes and dreams of a future that was never mine. I didn't know any better, so I kept crying.

xiv.
You can't run around like before anymore. Don't get your knees *****. Elbows off the table. Grow up. I brushed my hands of the dirt and picked myself up, because ladies weren't supposed to pick earthworms out of the grass. I picked up eyeliner instead.

xvi.
I'm trusting you. Don't get into trouble. Don't do anything dumb. There's something satisfying about hearing the roar of an engine at the start of a July evening. With the wind in your hair, freedom at your finger tips, I could have done anything. But I shut off the car and went inside.

xviii.
You're grown up now. You're an adult. You can't afford to make stupid mistakes anymore.  I was composed of keg stands, one night stands, roommates, 2am Taco Bell runs, first dates, caffeine, prayers, tears, insecurities, heart to heart talks, "just try it, it's fun, I swear", friends that turn into bridesmaids, broken promises and broken hearts. I can still hear the train's whistle.

xxi.
I told you not to do anything dumb. I told you not to make stupid mistakes. I don't know what to tell you anymore. Here's a standing ovation to being immortal; hats off to the teary drunken nights and the existential crises. These are the days that we'll look back and wish we never wasted and I'll wonder why I let you wipe your muddy shoes on me.