This is for my best friend
You were beautiful, and loved, you had so much left to give
I can't believe it's already been two years
No matter where I go you still find a way to make your presence clear
I still carry the weight of your life everywhere
Like whenever I see sunflowers I run to the spot they live just to see if you are there
When you told me I had a gift
I swear your face is scarred into the back of my eyelids because I see you when I sleep
I see you in my dreams just doing everyday mundane things or maybe smiling
When I got the phone call from Eileen, I dropped down onto my knees and screamed, bursting into tears
Realizing we are weaker than we feel or seem is pretty humbling
When people ask how I'm doing now, it's more an instinctual reaction to reply "well me, I'm just fine"
Blame it on an indifferent demeanor, or on an educational system that forces teachers to teach students to fill in bubbles and not use their minds
I guess they don't read what is said in between the lines
That I'm overwhelmed by the presence of your absence
Unanswered questions on repeat of why'd this happen, why it happened
When we all know I was far more reckless and less loved than you
I had a conversation with someone I love greatly the other day and we were talking about why I never feel like I'm doing enough
And it didn't occur to me that I can never do enough because now that you're gone I'm living for two
I love fully, my life is a vivid picture of possibilities and realized dreams of being of service to others in recovery from this disease
But vivid pictures stand in Stark contrast to the piece of my heart that you took when you left, now a hole shaded grey in what was once a beautiful place
Just like yesterday, I was speaking to a group of people in a detox and it was just a room full of people and they all had your face
"Live for yourself, don't live vicariously", a lofty idea hammered home through a million motivational speakers and yet
You don't really have a choice, because if you don't live through me in my mind you might not even be alive at all

her eyes are deep seas of wonder
always day dreaming
lost in clouds of thought
she's magical

there is so much beauty in letting go
severed from the past
simply moving forward
a weightless soul
utterly free

don’t leave bits of your heart in the ones who find the blood you spill intriguing, don’t jump into them as if they’re the bottom of the cliff you’ve always wanted to jump off of, don’t hold on to them the way you wish you’d been held through the darkest parts of your depression, don’t let muscle memory remember places they call home, don’t don’t don’t let yourself drown in more disappointment

// she falls in love the same way that she falls apart; quickly and all at once.

tumbling into his outstretched palms with a startling intensity, his fists clench and she cries.

she wants him to hurt her, leave smouldering bruises around her neck. Force your fingers down her throat and make her beg. maybe this love; choking sounds and blood.

it’s almost funny, the fact that she still hasn’t learned yet; make him your everything and you will be left with nothing.

and it feels like hell, almost romantic.

her lips part in the dimly lit room, gasping for air.

that’s the thing, there is nothing he could do to her that she wouldn’t do to herself. hold a knife to her neck and watch her soul drip from her mouth

one rib at a time you snapped them all like twigs and complained that she made too much noise. too much,

too loud.

lungs swimming in fluid yet she breathes out flowers, because that’s what pretty girls do; that’s what you wanted isn’t it babe? beauty. perfection.

don’t let him inside your head, keep him between your thighs or else everything around you will become white noise; fading into the background.

go on, romanticise it. i dare you.

force its unwilling bones into a metaphor or a simile.

pretend that we fall apart into beautiful, tragic spectacles and simply glue the broken fragments back together

she sat in the dark with a cup of tea between her shaking hands, resisting the urge to split her veins over the white walls and string her organs from the ceiling like fairy lights.

wanting to die in the most violent of ways is a lot less convenient than it seems; an unholy addiction of the rawest degree.

darling, i’m sorry he made you feel like you are hard to love,

because loving you is the easiest thing in the world //