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Vada Opalenik Jun 2014
Those moments where you just feel alive.
Those moments where maybe there are better things to do than die.
Those moments that remind you to take a breath.
And breathe, and breathe, and breathe.
Vada Opalenik Jun 2014
I fell to the floor of that hospital like the hand of God himself was the gravity on Earth. With each rolling tear, I shed a memory of the life I had with you. Card games to pass the time. Trips through the woods where you would teach me survival tips. You never taught me how to survive loss. When I heard you were gone, I knew moss lead to life, but it wouldn't show me where to go for death.

So, I ended up in a hospital. Where kids with their own problems were just as lost. And I met her. She would scream in her sleep for help but I was without a clue as to how I could help her. As I stared out the plexiglass window, with "help me" and "get me out" carvings becoming apparent with help by the street lights, I realized I had no clue how to help myself either.

The pills. Blue ones, white ones, small ones, big ones. They never helped. I was suckered into trying one after another, with a pinky promise of them helping to make me a happy kid again. The only change they made in me was making me come to an understanding that I'd rather writhe in pain that you're gone and never coming back than to live a life as an emotional vegetable. What fifteen year old kid wants to sit back and watch their friends enjoying the best years of their life while they're sat, struggling to find a laugh somewhere in the haziness of their own mind, only to come up with a subtle smirk hidden somewhere in a buried memory of the past.

It's been some years now. Five in three months. There's been a lot that you have missed in that time, but I know you're not far. When I think hard enough, I can see you ever so slightly in the background of all these memories. And I know it's you in my dreams. I can feel you, and you tell me everything is okay. That voice cracks through my rib cages and plays on the chords of my heart time after time. It's painful. To see you in such an intangible way. Not knowing how long I will have to hold your hand. To tell you I miss you. I love you. But I know you know, just as I know you are there.

Through this time I have learned more about you, and more about myself, than I ever could have imagined. You shine brighter in me with each passing day. Some days you shine so bright, there is a light that radiates from the core of my soul and it burns until it shines over everything. And like moths to a flame, I attract nothing but the beauty you carried inside of you all those years you gave to me. And the beauty is ever flowing and always growing. Like the first time a father sees his newborn daughter. Or the last time that daughter sees her father.
Vada Opalenik Jun 2014
I'm so wrapped up with being
wrapped up with you
that I can't wrap my head around
being with someone new
Vada Opalenik Jun 2014
We all trek on, flipping pennies for change,
Imprisoned in a world where we don't feel sane.
Scrounging for words at the back of our throats,
as the devil holds his hand mirror inscribed in vain.

The hymns will echo through the hall, a gruesome harmony,
of memories doused in fine sugar smiles,
where the smokers coughs cover the discrete inner war,
enemies bringing themselves to ongoing trials.

We'll cry on the train home with holes in our hearts,
purity crashes experience, flames enrage.
but need not forget, life is a beautiful gateway,
to an afterlife of contentment and minimum wage.
Vada Opalenik May 2014
Would you come looking for me if I disappeared?
Would you wonder where I went if I was gone for years?
Sometimes I wish I got sick, to see if you'd be there.
And partially to say,
"*******, you never cared."
  May 2014 Vada Opalenik
I was born with a knack for reading and a passion for writing and a terrible, ten cent memory. although I can't recall what I ate for breakfast (unless your mother made it) I can still remember the first time we met.

I remember looking up at your apartment, seeking refuge from the cold, pushing away "this is a bad idea" and thinking maybe honey colored windows and smokey air could change my life. plants hang like bodies behind the blinds. now I think "this was a great idea" and I still can't decide if I should've ascended those stairs- two flights- right into your life. you were sitting on the couch and wouldn't look my way because the cigarette between your lips was far more intriguing. car horns and screams erupt from the tv. this is the first time we speak since I first saw you in middle school, pushing my friends into the bathroom of the wrong gender.

I remember spending every day working my way to the couch. first the floor. then the chair. then beside you. and once I found this place God knows I knew I was at home. I've never liked watching you play video games and swing from roof to roof and flip a truck with the push of a button, but now there's nothing I miss more than the sounds of that glowing controller. only when I traded my dark sweaters for a tight tee had I caught your attention.

I remember the night we taped your mouth closed and your wrists tight and tossed you in the trunk as a joke. I still have pictures. you tried to speak and although your words were muffled, I could understand. I was the translator. and I still am. you told me you'd be satisfied if you kissed my best friend before the night was over. I told you I couldn't handle myself on an empty stomach. I puked all over the side of the car.

I remember trying to start a fire for forty five minutes and chugging liquor like water before our friends returned. asking you to sit with me that night was an invitation to fall in love with me. however, the type of love you showed was not one I knew well. I never let anyone **** me because I was too afraid of myself. but I never stopped you because you weren't afraid of anything. I wonder if you still would have done it knowing how far along id take you. I wonder what kind of dreams you had when you passed out in the trunk and I shuttered in January air, 3 am and the tape from your mouth is on the steering wheel. there is no such thing as silence. there are only hands rubbing my back as I try to remember how the sun feels.

I remember bruises on my thighs that looked like Van Gogh touched a canvas with a blindfold on. I swear I shook for three days after That: when I saw you, when I wanted you, when I thought of you. three things I still tackle with every morning smoke. I used to think you'd never speak to me after that night. who would've guessed we'd have a million more.

I remember the first time you had me completely exposed, and it was not just my skin. I was knocking things off my bucket list, knocking my head on the headboard, knocking on your door at midnight with a blunt in my back pocket. remember when you punched me in the throat on accident? I leaned into it. should've knocked some sense into me.

I remember laying on your bed listening to the messages my first love had left on my phone a year ago. "I love you, I love you. please come back. I love you." you thought they were creepy. I wanted you to need me this badly. I wanted you to hold me when I cried. "message deleted." "message deleted." I wanted to keep you from walking out of the room, and I wanted to keep your mother from walking in. she thought I was a good one. "I like her," she shouted, cackling over the sink. "she's good for you. she's so good for you." she doesn't know I carved her couch with your knife. she doesn't know how you dragged me in front of the mirror and told me I was beautiful. she once called me and told me I used her as a hotel. it was my home. I am still there, somewhere. I remember so many things and yet not one is valuable when I try to find words to fit. I can't tell you what love is. you can read every poem and hear every love song and see every photo and you will never know. but if you give me an hour and a bottle of wine, I can tell you what it's like when it's gone.
Vada Opalenik May 2014
Maybe you're made from the same stardust
that I hold within,
I can feel you inside of me,
like I know where you've been.

Every tragedy that you hold
is a tough weight to bear;
I know because I have my own,
I have enough to share.

And everything that shines
is hidden in the dark.
We wait around like burnt match sticks,
waiting for a spark.

To be seen, that's the goal, right?
To be the light in someone's night?
Or the image when someone closes their eyes.
To be the first face seen when they arise.
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