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.

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.

i. You sat down next to me and asked me what I was reading. When I looked up, you became just another encounter in my life—a face that I’ll remember as the person who approached me that day. When you left, I didn’t think of you again.

ii. I saw you again and you were reading that book. Your face lit up when I approached you this time and you began to excitedly tell me the things I already knew about the characters; love lines were just being introduced and you couldn’t wait to see where they would end up. I already knew the ending, but I couldn’t wait either.

iii. Our unplanned encounters began to be planned. We spent hours at the café down the street, talking about music and books and philosophers and life. Cup after cup, we abused the all you can drink coffee option until we were taking turns using the restroom. I never wanted to leave.

iv. We moved from the café back to my apartment. You didn’t mind the mess; I didn’t mind showing it to you. Our discussion of the novel you finished turned into a silent discussion of our bodies that traveled on deep into the night. When I woke up the next morning, you were gone.

v. I didn’t see you after that night, even when I inconspicuously walked by the bookstore and the café. There were a few times when I walked in and sat down at the table where you had told me that your biggest fear was losing the necklace your deceased mother had left behind. I drank a cup of coffee and couldn’t tell if I had lost you or if you had left me behind.

vi. We met again and you didn’t remember me.

I can’t remember birthdays.

I can’t remember anniversaries, the first day we met, or even when our next date is. I can’t remember anything if it deals with numbers (unless there’s a particular reason for that number). My brain works like an office; there are papers scattered everywhere but with my slight case of ADD, I can’t figure out what papers belong to what. In the corner though, there’s a gray filing cabinet that’s been chipped in just all the right places. Inside this filing cabinet, I keep files like that. If you pull out my mother’s file, it’ll have her birthday on there, her anniversary with my father, and it might even have the names of all of her children (I couldn’t be bothered to remember my own siblings’ names). I never look at these files unless I really need to—that’s why they’re in a filing cabinet. It’s a place to store information that’s not useful to my every day.

I have characters in my head that sometimes, I think are real. They keep me company when I’m alone in my room at 4 in the morning, writing out their story. I can change anything I want about them; I can change their hair colour, their personality traits—I can even change the way they walk. You shouldn’t date me because I’ll hide behind these characters; they’ll become a part of me and I’ll start being a part of them. They’ll become my excuse for why I couldn’t spend the night with you last night—“I needed to finish my story”—why we couldn’t go to the park—“I can’t walk and write”—why I couldn’t have dinner with you—“eating takes too much time away from my writing.” If you want to date me, you have to date my characters too.

I can’t prioritize. If I can’t remember your birthday, how will I be able to remember you? I’ll remember the way your hair smells right after a shower (and I might even have one of my characters smell that way too) and I’ll remember how you looked on your first day of work (you have never been more professional) but I won’t remember what your face looks like the day you decide to walk away from me. I won’t hear anything other than the screaming of our first fight and how there’s a vein that pops up on your neck when you get angry. I can’t remember to bring you to my coffee dates with myself and I won’t remember to call you to say good night. I’ll end up saying good morning to you when it’s 3 in the morning and you’ve come looking for me since I haven’t found you.

Don’t date me because I can give you nice gifts. I’ll always remember your favourite colour and the way you laugh at puns. I keep these things in the front of my mind: what makes you smile, what jokes you like, and insiders that only you and I understand. I’ll bring you Sleepless in Seattle with four bars of Hershey’s chocolate when you’re on your period; I’ll carry you on my back after a drunken night of karaoke and beer. When you can’t sleep at night, I’ll put my hand in yours and shake your arm, as if telling you that I’m your reality and your nightmares are just dreams. Your medication will be counted out to the exact dosage when you’re sick—I’ll always have a cup of warm hot chocolate right beside it too (since I know you hate tea). I’ll keep all of this in mind while I create presents to give you on days I can’t remember.

I’ll know exactly when you wake up to go to work and what time your boss will let you come home, but I’ll still forget to bring you roses on your birthday.

I’m not a good catcher.

When I was younger, my father never took me to the park like all the other kids’ dads did. I hated the sun, and he knew that—he also liked to work more than he liked to be around me. “Time is money,” he’d always say as he laced up the shiny, black Italian loafers he’d just imported. “Why don’t you go read a book?” I learned how to hate the sun when I read James and the Giant Peach and that stupid peach looked like a replica of a sun that swallowed James whole.

I didn’t eat many peaches after that, nor did I go outside often.

In school, I was chosen last to play on just about every team sport—even basketball, despite my height towering over many of my classmates. During the spring, we played baseball. I remember cowering at first base because my father never taught me how to catch a ball, since he never took me to the park. When the batter stood up at the plate, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The moment the cracking sound indicated that the ball had indeed been hit by the bat, my limbs shook in fear and I hid behind the worn and torn baseball mitt.

"It’s yours!" I heard the voice of my classmate shout from across the field and I knew that out of the four plates, I was the one he was yelling at. "Catch it!" I peeked an eye open and I watched in awe as the white leather ball came straight towards me like  comet rushing to crash into the Earth; it blocked the sun from my eyes and out of instinct, I raised my arms to the heavens as if I was asking God to catch the ball for me.

It landed in my mitt, but like I said—I was never taught how to catch a ball. It rolled off of my brown leather surface and touched the sand. It reminded me of the time my cousin had tossed me my mother’s gold-rimmed plate from across the kitchen while we were doing the dishes after dinner.

The ball didn’t break, but I still heard the same shattering sound of the gold-rimmed plate crushing to pieces at the impact of the white linoleum floor.

We were drunk on each other—at 2:36 on a Monday morning, we couldn’t take our hands off of each other. I turned to you and closed my eyes; I was in love with the idea of you, but I didn’t love you. Your fingers trickled down my arm and your lips pressed against my shoulder, mouthing words that I guessed said something along the lines of “I’m glad I met you” but I chose to ignore them in my oblivious manner. You tried to hold my hand, but I pulled away—the more physical it got, the less intimate I wanted it to be. We were drunk on each other, but I wanted to sober up; the morning after was my least favourite part.

You have always been unpredictably cool and golden retriever status loyal. You hid in closets with me when Mom and Dad were yelling and you held my hand through each silent treatment and each “let’s sit down, we need to have a talk” moments. You came to me when you needed help reading and to pick out clothes for school dances.

You were the first person to laugh at all my jokes and the first to tell me that that dress did make my *** look big—you were also the first to remind me that I was beautiful, especially when I didn’t believe it myself. You didn’t stop crying when I hugged you, but we’d both just end up in a teary, sobbing mess because when one hurt, so did the other. You put up with my obnoxious free-spirited ways that collided with each of your organized, to-the-point methods all these years and never once questioned me. You had my back even when I was in the wrong. You believed in me when no one else did.

You grew up to be amazing. Whatever you wanted to do, you did it. You studied and you learned and you just grew into this person that I knew you could be. You’ve had a number of set backs but your ability to keep moving forward is what makes me admire you. The world is at your disposal—you are now in control. The dreams you’ve had for a while now are finally coming true, and it’s because of you that they are. I couldn’t be prouder.

Your attention to detail always fascinated me. You never forgot a single appointment, a birthday, a dollar loaned, where Dad left his car keys—whenever I was lost, you help me find my way again. Although you’re the “little” sister, you’ve always been the one I looked up to.

When people walk all over your heart and took you for granted, I was proud of you for standing up for yourself and removing those who aimed to bring you down. Although you lost a number of friends, you never lost yourself. You found solace in those who truly deserve to be in your life, learning a lesson that took years for me to learn.

To this day, there’s no one who can get under my skin more than you do. There’s no one who knows better than you what buttons to push with me, but there’s also no one who knows better how to cheer me up after a long, exhausting day. Fighting with you is more aggravating than with anyone else—the world is only correctly in place when we’re in sync, so kudos to us for not being able to be mad at each other for more than a few hours.

We used to say that if we weren’t sisters, we probably wouldn’t even be friends so I’m glad that the universe blessed me with someone like you. I can’t imagine sharing parents with anyone else, because who else could do what you do? I thank my lucky stars that I have you around, because with parents like ours, I’ll need someone to talk about whatever embarrassing or nurturing or cute or terrible or weird or unfair thing they’re up to next.

What else can I say? Even though you’re 3,000 miles away and we’re about to begin the rest of our lives, I know that one day we’re going to be the weird old ladies on the block still listening to the Backstreet Boys and making bad impersonations of our relatives.

You don’t like being touched so we don’t hug. Hugging is weird. Affection is weird but you’ll send me pick up lines like you’re a guy at the bar and I’m the girl you’re trying to take home for the night. People tell us we should just get married ‘cause I know I’ll never find someone who will treat me right like you do. We’d be lesbians, except you’re on the hunt for tail and I’m not into you like that.

When you were 11 and I was 13, people used to think we were sisters because we looked alike. I used to think you were kind of weird (but I think over the years it’s gotten worse) and now your weirdness just adds to your charm. I’m not sure what I was thinking the first 3 or 4 years of our friendship when I decided that there were other people who were more important than you, but I’m glad I learned my lesson. There’s only one person in this world who will sit in my car with me for 10 minutes while I cry and bring me eyeliner without a question and that’s you.

We’re not the inseparable set of friends where we have to go everywhere with each other, be everywhere with each other and be attached to the hip because God knows we’d be so sick of each other by the end of the day but I’m glad we’re the kind to be real with each other and not be butthurt. If you tell me I look fat in something, I’ll tell you that you look worse. We call each other names but we’ll still stay married on Facebook. We talk once, maybe twice a day but we (almost) always pick up each other’s phone calls when needed because sometimes I just need to hear the comfort of your voice. We’re a long distance relationship without the miss-you ***.

I’m not sure how often I tell you this but here it is again: i love you and I’m glad you’re in my life. I don’t like calling people my best friend because it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth but you’re my best friend and it took me nearly 8 years now to have it finally hit because when I’m crying, when my heart is broken, when I’m stressed out, or when I have some really great news, you’re the first to hear it. And probably the greatest part is that I’m not anything less with you.

You’re the kinda chick where you ogle numbers and numbers of guys on end but is too shy to actually say anything because contrary to what everyone else thinks, I know all you want is to be loved for who you are and one day, you’ll find someone who will do that for you. And until then, I’ll fill in his space the best I can (mostly because I’m missing a pretty vital ***** otherwise we’d be mates for life). Sometimes you can be steadfastly cool. Sometimes I’m embarrassed to be seen in public with you. But most of the time it’s both and it’s what makes being with you different from being around anyone else.

Aside from this weird burst of affection I have for you, you’re probably off somewhere getting drunk off your *** and you’ll be texting me the next day telling me how drunk you were last night and I’ll laugh because you’re an alcoholic in the making and that’s just the kind of people we are with each other. It’s just nice to have someone who’s been there through the good, the bad, and the ugly and still be able to call my friend. We don’t judge each other even though you have more dirt on me than my own parents do.

Once gay marriage becomes legal in Texas, I know we’re gonna get hitched and raise some dope lookin’ children while we sit in Jin’s Korean bbq and scrounge for babes and convince them to date us.

Utter the word "long distance" and the first thing that comes to mind afterwards is relationship. After relationship, comes a lover 3,000 miles away that's dedicated to falling asleep on Skype and has Snapchat constantly open to remind you about how their day is going. Time differences. Distance. It all becomes blurred together when it's 4 in the morning here, but 6 in the morning there, and they're asleep but you're not. Welcome to your long distance relationship.

But when it's 4 in the morning here and it's 12 in the afternoon there and there's more than just miles in between us but oceans, you never forget to wish me a happy birthday and if your boss is nice to you that day and adds the extra dollar to your paycheck, there might even be a gift or two for me being sent first class (because who would ever dare fly coach these days?). You'd swim the ocean for me, if I asked. You'd push the countries together. To (platonically) love another person, as the saying goes, is to see the face of God and you are an angel.

There will be days where we don't talk. The days turn into months, and the months turn into years. The longest, I think, was the hardest of year mine--coincidence? But even when the hours begin to add up and it seems like the ocean is getting bigger and bigger, you never cease to tell me that I'm one of the most beautiful people you've ever met (and **** the skinny girls who tell me otherwise). I would have turned the world upside down just to bring us closer together, if I could.

We're too young to not go out and live life with the people who are here, but who's to say that the people who aren't physically here aren't real? I can reach out and touch the girl next to me, but her warmth won't mean as much as when I go home and sign into Skype and your voice is already bouncing through my computer's speakers ready to tell me about your day. We cry together. We dream together. We always said we'd grow old together.

They say you can't really know someone when you've never met them, but I've met you in more ways than I can count. I've met the way you sleep at night (thanks to Skype and time differences), because you snore when you're too tired. I've met the way your eyes light up when you talk about your job, your hobbies, the things you like. From my 13" screen, I've met your siblings, the posters on your walls, the room you sleep in. We depend on technology to meet each other so don't let anyone tell you that technology is ruining lives. It's been saving mine.

So, my friend, thank you for the long nights of telling each other our life stories, learning secrets, learning quirks that no one else has ever noticed (because no one else seemed to care). Thank you for taking my side in almost every situation and for keeping me company as I sleep. Thank you for the birthday serenades over Skype, picking up the phone when I'm drunk and crying, and for growing old with me. For all of the movie nights that we spent on Skype yelling "okay, press play in 3, 2, 1!" and for all of the advice about people you'll never meet, cheers to you, to us, the time, and distance apart.

i told you i loved
you i love you i loved you
but then i lost you

someone told me to get drunk and smash things
because that’s what life does to you and
its only polite to return the favour.

i bled that night. i watched your knife slice my skin,
but i didn’t scream. i didn’t deserve to.
did your blade like the way my vein brushed against it?

i drank. i drank and i drank and i drank.
absinthe makes you hallucinate but they’ve never been heartbroken.
the wallpaper is peeling. the windows are barred.

(i don’t want to know where i left the key)

i tossed my life out and i set it on fire
because someone told me to get drunk
and smash things.

i stopped writing. i kept writing. i stopped.
the saddest word in my vocabulary?
“i don’t want to write because then it’s over.”

i have become a collection of misconceptions and
not understandings with a mumble jumble of hoosits
and whatsits because i can’t end this poem.

i will love you until i have nothing to offer you.
your body is a church and i have come to confess,
i am years and years of potholes and cracks in the wall,
and you are the cement that stops the storm.

i will love you until i have nothing to say,
until drought comes, until snow stops.
until your fire burns out and i'm the only one
who knows how to ignite it again.

i will love you until i have lost everything.
it's easy to lose yourself in strangers and
beautiful sights but mark my words,
i have never seen a stranger more beautiful than you.

i.
I once knew a girl who wore jeans with ripped holes
not a cape, but scraped knees
she didn’t believe in smoke signals, instead
wrote in the margins of the paper but
each time I wanted to drown,
she taught me how to swim.

ii.
She slouched when she walked and
had mousy brown hair without
pearly white teeth or a figure 8 but
when she smiled, my God,
was she beautiful.

iii.
My mother always told me that when I grow up,
I could be whatever I wanted. When I told her
I wanted to be Wonderwoman, she laughed and said,
“someone is already Wonderwoman,” I didn’t know
that someone was you.

iv.
The next time someone pulls your hair or
calls you names, remember that there’s only one you
who knows how to save my world.

1.28am
My ears were too loud and I couldn’t hear you over the pounding of my heart but I tried, oh God did I try. The first thing I saw was your teeth and before I knew it, you were in my lap. You sang your name in my ear and seven months later, I still heard your voice. The night has just begun.

2.02am
It was a friend through a friend through a friend who told a friend about you who mentioned me to his friend and that was how we met. No introductions, no conclusions, no “hello my name is” because it was more like “can we just **** now?” and we did.

2.35am
I spent days lodged inside of you because that was home to me. I filled you up to the brim and I watched me inch out of you day by day. My bed had your imprint in it and home was no longer home unless you were there. Front to back. Eyes open. Eyes closed. Dark. Light. Old fashioned. We did it all.

3.00am
We built our relationship out of books, movies, biology, dead poets, coffee shops, shower ***, hot summer nights and cool June days. Catabolism is the process of breaking down molecules. Anabolism is the process of building up molecules. You catalyzed; I watched.

3.35am
This is what your mirror reflected.
June: Bright eyes, white teeth, laughter, wavy hair, sun-kissed skin, tank tops, flip flops, sleepy babbles, the desire to fall in love.
January: I’m trying my best to love you the way you want me to but I can’t anymore and I’ve let other people touch me and I can’t say no because I love you I really do but I can’t do this anymore you make me happy but so does everyone else and I’m sorry but I’m sorry but I’m sorry but I love you but

3.47am
I waited for 3 days but you never came home. So I burned it all and you yelled at me. A piece of me burned with the flames but you ignored it and then it became February.

5.47am**
The sun is rising now and I still hear the way you sang your name in my ear. It would have been 8 months soon and 8 months ago, we talked about forever. It will be March soon and when the flowers bloom, I won’t think of you anymore. I keep a response to a note that you never left me and I’ll read it when I miss nights with you. The night is over now.

Beyond the late night talks on the phone and hiding from your parents will be screaming of "no", "stop", "I know you want it". You'll grow out of the awkward and one day, your limbs will feel like home and your skin will become armor.

Will you go out with me? Those words won't mean as much as it'll be over soon, baby. Sneaking out to go to the park always ends in sneaking out in the morning. The walk of shame becomes routine and you'll forget the hip hugger jeans and the training bras.

Your first heartbreak won't be your last so don't worry--you won't marry the one with sweaty palms and stutter. When he takes you to the mall now, you won't hang out in arcades. You'll start to feel dead roses growing from each crevice of your body but don't cut them; nurture them so they'll grow into the reds I know you can be.

Find your home away from home because when Daddy tells you that you're too young to be in love, fight him and run home. Home is where you make it, whether it's in someone's arms or a corner of the universe where you and the alley cat know. Fall in love with your best friend. Kiss her, and don't feel bad about the lies they tell you in church. Love is love, not what Adam and Eve decided. If you like kissing her, keep doing it and tell her that when the sun sets, her eyes blend in with the rising night. Wish upon those stars so you'll remember those summers spent together. If you don't like kissing her, stop.

Kiss what you like. Kiss everything you touch. Because your kisses are diamonds and someone wants to find the treasure. Fall in love over and over until your t-shirts hug your curves and your jeans are the shade of blue that matches your eyes.

remember the time when i tried to glue my hand to yours and
claimed that glue would be the reason we'd stay together?
you didn't stop holding my hand that day.

i walked 20 steps from your side of the bed into the bathroom,
the towel smells a little bit like you and you promised
it would stay there for another 20 years.

you know i'd stay here forever, right? when you're in a rocker and
i'm eating puree, ask me again to tell you the story of us.
i'll tell you a story better than cinderella or snow white.

they tell me i'm poetic but poems are written with meaning.
i write because i am searching for ways to describe you but
you're too big for poetry and i love you too much for language.

I tell you that

“I miss you” like

a mantra in a song

but “I miss you"

still separates me

from you, and

“I love you" shows

only me loving you.

I. I didn’t pick up when you called
and I watched it go straight to voicemail—
there was hesitation in your voice
but I still didn’t pick up.

II. Tuesday became Wednesday
and I forgot what time you had texted
me back because I didn’t check my phone
every 15 minutes for no reason.


III. I was confused on your name
being in my phonebook and
I wanted to ask someone
who’s number I have

but when you texted me again
to ask how my day was, I replied to say
it would have been a lot better
if I spent it with you.

IV. I recorded your snoring
so when I sleep, I can remember
what I don’t want to sound like
but it’s the only way I can go to sleep.

V. Morning afters became routine for us
and you still won’t kiss me
after I ****** your ****,
only if I brush first.

VI. Ask me if I’m crazy again
and I’ll tell you that I’m crazy
for you, like a schizophrenic
off medication.

VII. At 8 in the evening
the night before a test, I’ll drop everything
to drive 45 minutes to see you for 20 minutes
because I don’t know when I’ll see you next.

VIII. I don’t like to text you
because you don’t use emojis
but if you don’t call me before bed,
I’ll yell at you for not talking to me.

IX. I’m not a ****
so stop laughing
at me.

X. I called you back the next day.

i’ve forgotten the sound of your voice
except for the time you yawned
and daisies were pushed through the grass.

your hands are locked together, aren’t they?
i can’t open them anymore because
i’ve foolishly lost the key.

don’t forget to water the cactus
give it a kiss or two so it remembers
even when you bleed, it’s still loved.

are you still listening? i've been
wandering for days in the desert
looking for your last drop of water.

orange has turned into green now
but only you’ll understand why
my heart breaks when the flowers bloom.

when your heart squeezes and
you can’t breathe, remember that
buutterflies start out as overgrown worms
and people use the word beautiful to describe graveyards

when your hands are shaking and
you’re choking back sobs, remember that
tomorrow the sun will rise
and you’ll be there to see it

hold the blanket you were born in close
and whisper to yourself the things you want
to do before you’re 30, and things you want
to do tomorrow—

remember: people gaze at broken glass in awe
even though no one bothered to read
fragile: this way up

don’t worry. i did.

don’t be afraid. crows will screech
and lions will roar but stand,
you’re the statue of liberty.

i never understood why you could smoke at 18
but drink at 21 when
smoking won’t let you graduate college.

call your mom every day, she sits alone
in the house that once swallowed you,
waiting to be taken too.

be your own best friend, no one else
will think that the sun shines out of your ***
more than you will.

lastly, love harder than you’ve ever loved—
let yourself fall and when you’re bleeding on the concrete,
get up and do it all over again.

january 2013
“I always sleep on your side when I miss you.”

september 2013
“You are the last little slice of happiness I have left.”

may 2013
“Storms are beautiful. You’re beautiful. I think of you every time it rains.”

july 2013
“I love how you fit so perfectly with me.”

october 2013
“I hope you have sweet dreams. I always do when I fall asleep smiling in your arms.”

december 2013**
“You loved me until the end. I’ll love you until the end.”

there’s my heart, with your name tattooed.
i tried to tell him to stop but
when the needle inked the flesh,
i was already halfway done.

we’ll burn each other at stake because we love each other.
i love you. i’m going to ******* **** you.
i love you so much that i’m going to ******* **** you.

set fire to all of your bridges and get burned.
you’ll never know pain unless you are stranded.
rebuild the bridges with thicker ropes,
and this time, don’t be so stupid.

when you’re lost, don’t you dare look for me.
the chances are,
i’ll be lost right beside you.

i’ve been trying to write a poem to describe
what it’s like to be so far away
and so in love with you,
but this isn’t it.