I have come to the realization that I’ve been sort of shitty to some of the people I care about the most. I have taken many of them for granted and it makes me feel awful. I’m a huge contradiction in that I’m the biggest, most judgemental asshole, but I’m also very caring. I want people to think of me as being kind, not bitchy. I wish I was a better person.
Be with someone who looks at you like you’re the fastest car in the whole world, who treats you like they can’t afford you, someone who knows just how to rev your engine.
Be with someone who loves you despite your miles.
Fall for someone who believes that you’ll never lose a race, never miss a mark, that you will never falter.
Be with someone who drives you, someone who will spend every cent and spare second to make you better.
Be with someone who looks at you like you’re the fastest car in the whole world, and they are the only person with keys.
I am in love, and I don’t know if that puts me in the wrong.
I am alone, and I’m unsure if that makes me less justified.
I am scared and I know it makes me less brave.
I can’t hold on but I won’t let go, I am reaching towards a body I can’t save, a mind I can’t read, a light that I can’t see.
Concepts I don’t grasp are the hardest to have faith in. People are hard to have faith in.
But have faith in knowing that I am doing my best, and take solace in knowing I don’t settle for less, and find peace in the facts because they are what they are. Don’t question each mark and spot and freckle and scar, accept that we are all alone, and scared, and hopelessly in love with something or someone where we have no control of the outcome.
I’ve got baggage like weights on my shoulders, the ones who pack it away do more damage.
You are the body I can’t save, but I am an open book, with some blank space.
I am writing our story about how we did it all anyways, terrified, somber, and stumbling in the dark. This is a memorandum for my sad heart who just wants a little bit of something good to hold onto, someone to come home to, some change in a jar and bread on the table.
But hey, who am I to say I’m worthy, or even remotely deserving?
I wonder where you are and how you are. I want you to write me things and listen when I talk.
I want to go find you and tell you all my dreams, and tell you about all the broken parts of me.
I wonder what you’re thinking about, and if you think about me more often than you don’t, more often than you breathe.
I want you to find the culmination of everything you’ve ever lost in me.
I want you to be lost in me.
And I wonder if I lose my footing, will you be there to break the fall? I wonder if I needed you at 4 am, would you pick up my calls?
I want to be all the sustenance you could ever need.
I feel awfully old for my age
Like somehow I’ve outgrown my bones
And my heart took root someplace outside of my ribcage
We were going to get married.
Recipes for not crying yourself to sleep:
1. Do not sleep.
2. Do not cry.
3. Pop something to get to sleep.
4. Think of things that make you happy, then remember that they are all far out of reach.
5. Call a friend, then remember you have none available.
6. Listen to music, then remember that everything reminds you of the reasons you are sad.
7. Pop more, to sleep longer, and feel less.
8. Cry. A lot.
9. Drink until you feel numb.
10. Pop enough to sleep indefinitely, cry over an empty bottle, wrap yourself in the blanket you stole to keep you comfortable instead of unraveling you from tip to toe, look at your reflections in all the diamonds you own: Why aren’t you happy? Why are your dreams so empty and your thoughts so full? Why is your heart so heavy and your mind so dull? Where do you begin once it is the end?
I am sick of buying stamps and licking envelopes and waiting for the goddamn mail every day
Just to know that you’re doing okay,
It is 2014, communication shouldn’t be this way
And sometimes I wonder why I stay with you
Sometimes I wonder how I ever lived without you
But most of the the time I wonder who I’ve turned into
Because your hurricane has rattled my ribcage, and like atoms, I’ve been rearranged into someone new
Change is constant but I’m not sure what to do
When my body doesn’t feel like my own anymore,
When home doesn’t feel like home anymore
I am floating, the debris of your wreckage
We skip like tracks on a record, but your track record is shaky
Like fault lines for earthquakes
Maybe we are tectonic plates
Converging, or digressing I don’t know
You are a sinkhole
And I am falling in, but I’m more used to falling over or falling out.
I am a girl who has only ever seen the sun, but you showed me the skies, the stars that you keep in your eyes, and every shade of gray that precipitation can produce. I have cried as often as it rains.
I have spent too many days waiting for your letters, waiting for your calls, waiting for the rain, or anything to change, anything at all.