Don’t listen to them when they say **** won’t ******* up.
Don’t listen to that stupid tove lo song and think it’s meant for you.
Google long term depotentiation and get back to me.
While you’re at it, bring all those memories I lost back to me too.

I can remember the time on the mountain, numerous hotel stays, your fish sheets, your bedroom, your socks, your bracelets.

I wish I could forget the time I had to call an ambulance, your parents, and mine.
I can recall the time security was called, my window banging, how my hand stung, and you promising it wasn’t when it obviously was.

I can remember the first time we said it, and maybe the last time we meant it in my backyard.
It’s almost as if you knew right then you were going to **** it all up.
I can’t imagine why else you cried so hard.

It’s the anticipation of expecting to prove everyone wrong,
****** by the realization that they were right.
The pride that I know us better than anyone,
we’re different,
we’re better,
we can move past it and be better than before,
lost in sheets that aren’t my own and highways we’ve all been on.
It’s the void between us even when our bodies are clipped like magnets.
And I’m looking down so deep for anything,
any trace of sameness.
I’m looking down from that 40 foot jump
into dark blue water lined with foam.
And you’re behind me telling me to jump,
that it’s okay,
that I’ll be fine.
There’s a rock to my left,
there’s a crack on the ceiling,
there’s this ******* tension that I can’t ******* shake.
There’s you and me sitting in restaurants and airports,
in cars and outdoors for hours.
There’s you ******* me as hard as you can,
and me inventing a ******* excuse as to why I’m bawling as you finish.
Because it’s easier to lie with you over me
than tell you I can’t feel anything anymore.

It was my fault,
I saw it coming as soon as I said it.
But I felt I had to make you talk about it,
because something like that-
something so ******* bad like that
has to come out eventually.
Maybe I know that more than most,
and wanted to get it over with.
Ripping off a bandaid,
or whatever.
"Let’s go to the bathroom."
"Seriously come on let’s go to the bathroom."
"Let’s go outside."
So I grabbed you and we went
and stood under a light,
shielded by the door frame,
but I know people still saw.
And it bothers me because they probably thought they knew.
And they probably thought it was petty.
"Squeeze me as hard as you can."
Someone said that to me when I was crying at a party once.
"I just kept picturing you and Brandon driving to Phoenix."
You repeated it over and over
just as you had told me “Please be careful today,”
earlier that morning.
And I swear I’m a little ****** up,
because it was cold as ****
and that warmed me up a bit.
And then later I returned the favor
"You know I love you too."
And I swear you’ve never smiled so big.
"I know, but that’s the first time you’ve said it back."
I can’t seem
to say it again.
"Maybe one day they’ll find
that boys’ tears make girls fall in love.
Something to do with pheromones.”

I had been on the verge of crying all night,
the bathroom was so tempting.
A cathartic sanctuary for just a minute or two,
not long enough to be missed,
not long enough to be noticed.
But I feared I might look over at the shower,
your shower,
and see us the day of the pool party.
It’s how I always picture you,
did you know that?
Do you do that?
Have a certain image of someone from a certain moment,
and that’s just how you picture them?
I picture you in the shower,
you looked so good,
the best you’ve ever looked.
Tan, defined, your eyes the brightest blue against white tiles,
I ******* melted and chased the water down the drain just looking at you.
And I looked the worst-
makeup smeared around,
hair in tangles.
Clumsy too,
I took out your shelf when we tried to have ***.
Height difference,
we never quite mastered it.
But it was funny
and we had such fun that day.
And now I’m so bored and I think you are too
and it makes me want to cry.
And want to be alone and
never have to look at you again,
or picture you in the shower,
or call out your name,
or touch you
cause it’s exhausting.
And at the same time I want to grab you
and look you straight in the eye
and say you’re one of a kind
and I’ll never forget you
and hope you know how huge that is
and I don’t care
if you don’t say it back
and I do care
if we never go on vacation,
or **** in a car wash,
or the main library,
or go on a date.

Not separate entities, but a knot of limbs tangled amongst plaid sheets
Constantly touching
My leg wrapped over your waist, yours hitched over my small frame
My awkward arm that wasn’t awkward because nothing is awkward with you
Your hand always at my ear, combing my hair
Crisp kisses, delicate scratches
eyes closed, quick gasps
I shouldn’t be writing this, I should be forgetting.
But there is something special about you and I can’t help myself.