We both turned off our read receipts (long ago?).
Don't want people to know when we
see or maybe
it's the choice
it's the control of perception
a light push back
arm's length reception.

You said you didn't think I understood you
and so it scared you when you found out I liked you.
If there's something I can understand,
oh god
it's that.

I don't want to push you-
or rather pull you
too close too vulnerable too soon,
know that.

I've been waiting a year to kiss you
and the waiting was so sweet,
wrapping wool around my finger,
sincere.
I will wait with you,
and for you,
my dear.

I'm not sure if I care that it's cliche.
Of course, these words have been said,
even crooned,
but not felt to their fullest extent.

Okay then, so I don't.
Because I've never felt this way
So right
My mouth holding the "so" like a velvet quail egg.
So natural and no sick
pit
throat closing
mind roaming
kisses like I used to have.

Nothing has ever felt so right.

I wish I could tell my old self
my young hunger
eating up a man's desire for me-
that it's a sour substitute for my own.
Belly full of unease,
maybe self-hatred
but not that pointed
a denial of my own needs.

I wanted to be sure
and I never was
but now I don't think we have to be.

I think we both feel the possibility of ephemerality
but I can't let this pass
without an attempt
trying to grasp
your shirt collar
to hold your sweet face
and trying to fight against the innate,
terribly strong urge to kiss you.

This is just as new to me as it is
to you.
I don't mind wringing it out to dry
in slow motion.
Unfolding with you slowly
softly floating
seeing where our hands land.

That sounds just right.
I love that.

you haven't talk to me since that night.
no text
no like, or comment.
cause I guess that's how things are now.

I still have your vacuum.
your expensive, high-tech vacuum.
but I haven't used it since you left.

I know it was me who initiated things.
I'm the one who told you to go.
We cried and hugged and kissed and it felt too beautiful to be it.
Too beautiful to be a break up.

it was your birthday.
and I want you to know I didn't forget.
I felt it creeping up on me like coming to the end of a roll of tape.

when will you call me?
will you ever?
I still have all all your things; too big to put in a box to hide.

you still had Sarah's bed frame in your garage and I wondered.
I wondered if this is what it'd be like.
But- you talked to her.
Does that make me stronger?
For not caving?

you said you needed space and I listened.
but I don't want to listen to myself.
I want to break the stitches and gush to you.
I want to break the silence and talk to you.
But I respect you too much to put that on you.

I made the decision to be alone,
but now I realize that I don't want to be.

so I'm looking for someone.
But I don't want serious.

but then what do I want?

It makes me fill with something.
some gas, or thing
maybe not jealousy
but something close to it
when I see that you care about astrology
now
though you thought it was stupid

you wanted to teach me
I didn't want to be taught
but you loved me so I sat through your lessons plan your rambling facts on things I don't care one bit about filing up my mental real estate like krisp, klean, kondos in the North end- but you understand that now.

maybe I taught you?
I'm not sure either of us would admit to that.

why did I find it so hard to create with you beside me. Like my energy was being ****** up from me turning to sloth when my whole life I've been hungry, absolutely insatiable but now so full I could barely move.

is that love? did your love steal my magic?

and I wouldn't say steal. more like weighed on. more like dampened. but you held me so tightly I love you I lvoe you I love you sweet boy I still love you even if I need to be alone right now.

I don't want to feel like I need to be alone forever.

I had so many conversations with so many people. You know about Hannah, but there were so many. They all told me to leave. But- I don't know if this is any better. I don't know if me sitting and listening and being idle is worse than this spouting, plunging, hole.

but you never opened up, did you?
things you said we'd talk about- therapy sessions you said you'd go to.

I wonder if you'll be shiny, sparkling clean for the next one.

all "fixed" and open and unrobotic and ready to share without tantrums and fast driving and me being scared for my life. I try to forget those parts. They seem like a different person. Someone who could **** me. Someone who could **** you.

my therapist once told me that she didn't think I would go through with it. But when I saw you like that, I believed you could. I think that scared me the most.

Flippant. Uncaring. But- you were everything. I saw everything in you- the devious aggressor and the gentle pathetic victim. but there was no spark. there. I said it. There was no spark. But I cannot deny that it was a slow flame- and it lulled me into a soft sleep.

I'm not asleep. but I want to be now.

Patrick always said that I wasn't really there. I know what he means now. I don't know if I have the energy to be. I used to be so full of life and zest and now I feel like a sponge so full of the fuckery of it all without a way to ring it out.

and I guess that's why I'm writing again. Because I don't know if I want to talk. I don't want people to look at me like I'm ******. I know I'm ******.

so you're into astrology now.

I need to write more.
I need to write more since it's not coming out any other way.

I tried to speak to you.
I tried again last night.

The words would not come out,
I know it's cliche. I know it.

I've been neglecting my thoughts,
squishing them hard with my palms,
into a paste.
I've been trying to feed it to you,
but your mouth is shut and your head is turned.

It's ok, because I know there's nothing to love.
I'm not myself anymore.
I'm just hurting, that's all.

I understand that you don't want to live with me.
That's ok, because I know, I've tried escaping me too.
But I'm glued at the seams, and as much as I pull,
there's no breaking through.

Yes, you can walk away.
Yes, I'd like that in a way.

Since you're not pulling it out.
You're not eradicating my pain.

I must seem so silly to you.
So simple, too.

I don't blame you.
I don't blame you.

But I cannot erase the thoughts of girls saying exactly what you want them to say. I cannot erase the thought of you in bed with your best friend. I think you'd be a lot happier without my ****** up head. You'd be a whole lot happier without my ****** up head.

I'm definitely more interesting than she is.

I'm not saying this because I'm cocky or confident; I'm not.
I just know I am.

But why do I have to count and quantify a value for a girl?
Why is flesh a commodity?
And why am I trying to up-sell myself?

This self objectification never ends.
It is internalized to a point where I can't even feel emotions from the inside, only from how others would perceive them.

So detached from life.
From self.

I know she must've been great. Your family loves her. You did too.

I don't want to sell myself, but I'm feeling like I have to.
So insecure of my own "worth".

I don't save lives.
I don't even know if I can keep my own.

But I love you.

And she did too.

I can't think of better or worse, how I would stack up or compare.
But do I have to?

Am I my own ****** up ****?

air sweet
with heat and moisture
"can I stay over?"
"yeah"
smoking together
laughing and playing
smiles invading
what I thought was cold and hard to crack

and so **** what I thought,
I guess
hungry kissing
I miss those lips so much
they feel so good pressing

I never wanted to leave
I think you want to forget how good love feels

reasons who said you won't help me
you don't want to hurt me.
no one has tried to
crack me
not even my best friends.
maybe no one should love me
as if to shield them.
that's something I could understand.

I'm obviously at fault
what's changed?
sometimes you can't understand someone
no matter how hard you try.

He cannot believe
that I have my own opinion
my own lense
my own life

He is a pushing, smothering
ideal
He is wanting to steal
the only thing I have

But I am not 16 anymore
I am a week from 19
I am strong, I am loved

I've seen my faults, I have forgiven my faults. But I will never be able to forget what he's done. Never.

All this time, he thought there was a chance.
That my kindness stretched over fire and hell.
But I'm not stupid, I'm not ignorant to hurt.
I know how that would feel.