4.8.17

So with a sigh and a soft nudge
the Mariana trench, spreading
wide, wild, and empty from
collarbone to wide breathing ribs
was stitched together.

Breathing became solid and full
with each lilt of his lips against
her skin. He turned, faced her
straight, pulled her from the squall.

The Siren of Mariana shall sink
no more ships to fill her Pacific heart.
Her tears floating her instead toward heat.

His heat sewn among her scales,
soothing cactus blooms of their love—

the color of a dusty desert dusk.

Via *

cookie cutter

Weeks of rain led to dripping lightning
and sugar cookies, lovely with roses.
He smiled and my heart bloomed;
I owed myself some bravery.

I organized my words like the outline
of a puzzle, working to connect the
skyline before the center can become clear.
Truth tastes better dipped in tea.

His fingers spread across the table top,
I ached to join mine with his, create
a paper doll chain of two before his hands moved.
The cookie remained uneaten, the tea growing cold.

Deeper words came flying out as
he watched the crumbs on my plate,
licking his lips as I dipped my finger
from the frosting to my teeth.

The broken cookie broke his heart
while mine finally unloaded.
The past was long, full of twists.
I needed more time to make mistakes.

I needed to earn someone with a soul of silver,
lips I imagine taste like sugar crumbles
to match the rosebuds that
grow on my cupid's bow.

Again I've said too much, fingers
typing faster than thoughts can fly.
working to close the gap with every word.
My life has never been cookie cutter perfect.

But I'm willing to wait.

wants

I want to see you standing in my doorway. I want to sit on my porch with you and talk for hours on end. I want to see you above me pressing out all of the air in my lungs with your body weight. I want to feel our breathing synch up and see the sun peek over your shoulder after twisting hours on their heads. I want to read books with you and read your words and have you read mine.

Let's create a reality from this fiction. Let's talk and play and fall together. Let me feel your lips for longer than the moments I've only tasted so far.

via *

the smallest memory

People say I'm romanticizing you and making you better than you were. They remind me of your shortcomings. But I just keep reminding them of your dusty blonde hair and how it stood straight up in the morning. I'd brush it down while you made french toast and hummed softly along with the playing music. You told me we could stay in bed all day long. You'd cook us french toast and we'd pick at it all day and nap together and read together and make love. I wrapped my arms around your waist and could smell my perfume glued to your shirt.

I'm not romanticizing you. I'm trying to romanticize the pain of missing you. Make it into something beautiful. Meaningful. Not the toxic emptiness that spreads like cancer from stomach to heart to bone.

via *

leaking glass

I dreamt of you last night. You filled my darkening soul with the moonlight I remembered you bringing each midnight when the book fell out of my hands and your shirt became knotted in my palms. Your fist beat against my door and there you stood, shirtless like when you'd brush your teeth in the bathroom in the morning. The words pouring out of your mouth weren't words but melodies, curling ghostly fingers into my hair like a breeze curling around headstones. We pushed back onto my red fainting couch like we'd pushed against each other time and time again with bodies hanging off of each other.

Hands turned manic and hungry in the dream as we shoved on through each room in the house, your hand slipping down my skirt and hazy clouds troubling my eyes until they are leaking glass on your bare chest. How did we get here? How did we reach this world where only in a dream can I feel a goodbye leaving your lips and lodging in my ribs? I loved you more than that. You loved us more than that.

Seeing you in your new life woke your ghost up for me once more, let him wander through my door and letting him stain my bedsheets. That immediate and intense recognition at the bar hit me like the bourbon always settles in my kneecaps and makes me faint. If her cough syrup hair can soothe you more than my mocha strands, I am truly happy for you. Her soft eyes and curved chin, I can see they will fit perfectly in your palm.

via *

pour me a drink and pour your eyes over me.

You've always been the dangerous one. First I was your secret, your play thing, your high school taste. I was a risk you took, a risk to your cool factor, the image you'd molded of yourself as a bad boy, the streetwise one. If I was such a secret, doesn't that make me the dangerous one? I know you more than you'd like me to. But you never stayed away.

Your hair was always long, but even longer now. You moved closer to me and I breathed you in: the smoke, the liquor, the past. Fogged up windows, hushed breath, so much history. And years later I still feel your hands, the first hands. 

I was hazy quickly. You called it forward action, I called it liquid luck. I watched you from my booth, I pressed myself agains the wall, I let my eyes bubble up the length of my straw until I saw you looking back. 

That band is loud.

That band is shit.

That band gets better the more you drink.

You slid into my booth again and I slid my hand across your back, down your leg. Your hand found my thigh. Don't let them see. Maybe this isn't such a game after all. 

I'm told your eyes were on me when you sang. I know I was staring right at you. You were eating me alive. Everything burned, like guitar strings against calloused fingers. 

As we left, there you stood smoking. Or talking. It didn't matter. I grabbed your face. I kissed you like I knew I would. I couldn't even tell you why. 

I can only write about you with an elevated heart rate. With bass lines piercing the silence. When I dance in a dark room all alone. Maybe it's because I only feel you when my heart is racing and my nerve endings feel alive and tingling. You are the dangerous boy, after all. You make me feel dangerous. 

via *

echoes in the hallway

Voiceless echoes are coming for us.
They're crunching leaves and bones
against their molars and ripping jugulars
with their canines,
stabbing at the only flesh not burrowed
under dreams and blankets.

I can smell the sulfur. I can smell the heat.

Every waning fairytale on its last leg
hobbles back into the pages
and yet you stand. You. The unlit cigarette
hanging off of my lips, the funeral of smoke
strangling my uvula.

You hug me, the hole inches onward
toward six feet. A foot per year.
You loved me once.
You buried me forever.

via *

a sonnet for the road

These streets that twist and turn in front of my
rearview like I left you that night last spring-
twisted in your sheets, heart breaking, a ring
without a hand to hold its diamond high-
lead me down the same road, the same old sky.
But now my car is empty and I sing
our love song in silence, my lips that cling
to the last taste of you and our last sigh.
The suitcase skyline holds me here although
I try to pack your smell under my bras
and travel size shampoo. But I can't drive
away, can't seem to drive your scent below.
The wheel circles round all of my faux pas.
Without you here all I can do is drive.

via *

i am nothing without pretend

It's amazing how crushing you still feel on top of me,

even if it really was only once that your body weight

pressed into mine, made mine
 inconsequential.

This was the real first time, with love

and all that. A dorm room, plastered with childhood

and that beer pong smell. I only smelt turquoise and 

baby teeth.

We were babies swinging from monkey bars,
hanging by our chests and swinging
from our middles, eyes locking on
different points.

Fumbling for what was trying to come naturally, but
only as time wore onward would
we learn was only natural for
 one of us.

Even when we reached connection, you
pushed as deep as a needle inside of me,
my arms gave out from under me and
you faltered.

We moved independently together,
moths circling the same flame before death,
my right wing caught fire first, your left
burning just as quickly.

I still have burns and scars on my arm,
blisters and boils grow where they touch me.
Staying alone lets me stay with you, pretending
you wanted me. 

Via *

Inspired by:

thirty dialogs bleed into one

Happy New Year, lovers. I was right about last night being wonderful, and incredibly surprising. Incredibly Surprising. In fact if last night is any inclination as to how 2014 will be, it will be crazy and surprising and beautiful and unexpected. I could use a bit of all of that in my life.

Last night I talked with my dearest friend for the first time in two years, and I get to see him today.
Last night I spent my new year with my James Dean and got my heart served to me on a platter.
Last night I went to bed at six in the morning after having my head scream for hours.
Sometimes there are just too many words for how you feel.

Today I feel settled. Excited. Scared. Anxious. I feel a lot of things. As it turns out, my life will never be uncomplicated. Ever. But I am surrounded by gorgeous people, inside and out. That's all I can ask for, really. I'd rather be constantly unsettled than bored and uninspired.

via *

frost

The snow outside smells of

distance and chill,

while the snow blooming

in the bath smells of roses

and something deeper.

You still hang on my skin,

brushing off into the water.

sinking into the depths and 

sneaking to the surface to

kiss my forearm.

via *

lightning rod

I like him, I think.

I don't remember how that feels.

The tripping trepidation,

the bubbling bewilderment,

the thought of someone new

on the horizon. 

A few weeks back

he told me he was ready to

give up on love.

He's been so hurt,

his care never being returned.

He says my friendship means the world.

How do I tell him

I've been hurt too,

I've given all of myself

and lost every inch of who I was

for love.

His words always inspire me,

his last name sounds like adventure,

his first name sounds like hope.

He is an artist.

I'm weak for artists.

His mind is marvelous.

He makes me feel creative.

Heard.

Understood.

Worthy.

Talented.

I don't want to see our 

friendship disappear. 

I can't make him ready if he's not. 

But every time his name flashes

on my phone screen,

my heart flips.

I told him not to 

give up forever.

Just for now.

Wait it out,

love will strike again.

How do I tell him that he

has become my lightning rod? 

via *

he's got jokes

I've been talking with a boy. We won't talk about how we met because it's stupid and not worthy of our now awesome friendship. But we talk a lot. And it brightens my day. Here's why.

We were talking about depression. Not in a serious way. In a "let's discuss this thing because it's midnight and we are talking about dark and lovely things." And the fact that sometimes a text from a near stranger can make your day.

I said.

"Misery loves company."

He said.

"I'm gonna name my daughter Misery and she's going to be awesome. Whenever we have people over I'll have her entertain them. Then company will love misery."

He's got jokes, everybody. He's got jokes.

via *

the time it hurt the most

I wasn't excited for your arrival that night, your trek from Idaho to come to the concert I paid for for your birthday. I wasn't excited, but I still made myself pretty. I painted my face, slid into a red dress, chose torturous heels for what I knew to be a two hour standing concert. All for you. What a fool.

You'd told me earlier in the week if there were anyone else I could take, you wouldn't mind. It was a three hour drive after all.

It was your birthday present, after all.

don't come if you don't want to, i can't force you. 

See you in a few hours.

I got myself ready, swallowed hollow tears, and waited for your car to round into my cul du sac. You got out of your car, offered me a hug. I pretended to fumble with my coat.

You said I looked nice.

I volunteered to drive.

The car ride was awkward and stilted. You asked if I had heard that Gagnam style thing. I snarked that I didn't live under a rock. You smelled nice and I hated you for it. Your scent hung off of your clothes, the scent I tried to steal during the rocky months where you kept me purposefully on shifting ground as you continued living your life, leaving me to doggy paddle through mine. You occasionally swung me a lifeline, touched my skin as if bringing me back to shore, then pushed me further out to sea. You kept me on a hook for four months. I visited your house a few times then.

I stole shirts from your hamper, shoving them down my pillow case and caressing them when I got home to my empty bed. I missed your basement home in our long forgotten college town. I missed waking up beside you, the smell of sleep and twisted sheets in the air. My bed smelled like me and soon I drowned your shirt in my scent from overwear. Each time I saw you I stole a new shirt. But your smell never stayed long. In my car that October day, I staring ferociously forward, you staring at my marble cheek, your smell was choking me.

Stop making me miss you. Stop smelling like you. Stop smelling like the person I thought you were. Don't look at me like that. Stop ripping me apart. Tell me we'll be ok. Go to hell. Love me again.

Please. Please. 

I didn't speak a word. You spoke. I drove. I shook. I lost myself. You kill me. You killed me.

In line for the concert, I stood by myself as you ran back to the car for something. My luck, the only other people I knew at this concert were in front of me in line. He asked me how I was. Were you my boyfriend. I didn't know how to answer. I pretended to choke on my gum. He said he liked my dress. His girlfriend said we were a cute couple. I choked on my heart.

In the sweltering venue, we stood close to the stage. You dwarfed me and suddenly hugged me. I felt small. Not protected small. Not loved small. Dejected, used small.

"I haven't hugged you yet. You look wonderful, baby. I'm the luckiest guy in the room. I'm glad I came."

Were you?

With each song you pressed yourself harder into my back, pulled at my waist a little tighter, held my hand like you meant it. Kissed my head like you cared for me. I wept silently. No one in a crowded concert hall wiped my tears away. Your touch was like ice burning into my skin. I shook like a leaf in hollow winter winds. You swayed me with the songs. Your touch lied. I cried silently and alone, our love song playing around us for the last time.

After the show we sat in my car in my driveway. My neck was killing from arching during the concert. My back was knotted like a hundred year old tree. My stupid heels cut into my toes. You pulled me onto your lap and started rubbing my back. You didn't see my smeared mascara. You just held your mouth to mine and pressed my head into yours. You snapped my neck in two. My heart exploded.

You reached for my skirt. I pushed you away. You ran your hand across my thigh. I tried to stop crying but your empty kisses swallowed my tears. "Come on, baby. I haven't seen you in so long."

you haven't loved me for longer than that.
i guess i won't see you on new year, will i?
Don't say that, Em. You don't know that.
how dare you. 
Don't you think this is hard for me too? I wish I could still love you.
i don't care if this is hard for you. you deserve pain. if i have to rely on sleeping pills to erase you at night so i can breathe for five hours of sleep, you deserve pain.
We don't have to talk about this now. Come here, I'll rub your back. I'll kiss it all away.

You were brave to say that. You were brave to think I'd ever let you use me or touch me again. I gave you everything. You took it all without a second thought.

i don't believe you ever loved me.
Don't say that.
i don't.
Stop, Emma.
if you ever loved me, you would have broken just my heart. You didn't need to shatter my entire world too. 
Ok.
i hate you.
Ok.
did you ever love me?
Yes.
liar.
It was a long year together.
leave.

I screamed into your chest. For hours I screamed. You finally watched me crying. You finally saw the mess you made. And you tried to start crying with me. I beat my hands on your chest. Your apologies fell on deaf, broken ears.

I'll stay the night you said. I don't think you should be alone.
i've been alone for four months. you know that. leave. 

You slowly left my car. I pulled into my garage. I shut the door. Locked it tight. I could smell you pressed on my skin and I gagged. Peering through my blinds I saw you sitting in your car. You looked surprised that I shot you down. That hurt the most. You still didn't think you were wrong.

While you drove toward your home in those tired early morning hours I sat on my floor in a heap of your old shirts, ripping them apart with dagger tears, smelling nothing for the first time in months.

via *

white flag

The white flag of surrender has been raised. The white flag of peace. Of no ill will. The white flag of clarity and goodbye. I've jumped back and forth between humiliated and jubilated. Sadness and relief. It's not as hard as I thought it would be to let you go.

My sister talked me down and after surrounding myself with family and light, I saw the dark cloud you brought with you. I was hugged this weekend. Truly hugged. I was believed in and praised. I felt like me again. I felt excited for the future instead of imprisoned in the past, reaching up between the bars and barely grazing the silver lining of a future cloud.

I gave you everything I had. All of my faith was thrust to you. All I wanted to do was reassure you about how wonderful you are and how much potential you have. Through that process I lost my own potential and my dreams too.

The saddest part is that you didn't take any of it. Not a word. You stayed self deprecating and difficult and distant. You want so badly to be the bad guy, but you need to understand that you are a good guy. You would be a winner if you let yourself. If you pushed yourself or cared about more than just appearing unfeeling, you could dig yourself out of this mess. Maybe I could love you again.

This is what I've realized. You've changed. You aren't who you were when you were with me and I needed to be told that no matter what I did, I could never make you believe in yourself again. That's not my job. If you choose to stay this dark and deviant, I have to let you. Maybe one day you will wake up and I will be able to smile at you again. Best of luck in staying sad and drunk. I'll be over here living my life and laughing in love.

I loved you hard. I loved your memory though. It took seeing a weekend full of funerals and and family for me to realize that if I were to walk back in to you, I'd walk straight to death. I wouldn't be happy and I'd be held back.

I was wrong earlier. I was right to get brave. I was right to call you and thank you so much for answering me. It helped me see that you weren't you anymore and to see my potential again. My love for you had turned phantasmagorical. I was chasing my past and if I learned anything from Gatsby, it's the danger of doing that. I need to chase a brighter tomorrow, not a 10 watt past. I'm ready to be alone for a while. To see myself before I see others. I'm excited to be me for a while.

I don't think you will follow through in calling me. And that's ok. I don't know if I'd go anyway. It would be for the wrong reasons now. Thank you for inspiring beautiful poetry, I'm sure you still will. Thank you for the beautiful past. Thank you for making me see that I want no part of that to intoxicate my future, no matter how beautiful it was. I'll always look back at it with warm nostalgia.

Good luck, love. Goodbye.

via *

yesterday

Yesterday was one of the hardest days I've had in recent memory. Not that his year has been a cake walk, but yesterday was the cherry on top.

Yesterday afternoon my beautiful grandmother passed away after fighting a very sudden illness. She had been cleared for lung cancer after undergoing surgery to remove it about two weeks ago. She had a chest tube in place for the recovery process that subsequently became infected. She became septic after entering the hospital on Friday and sometime on Saturday stopped responding to medicine and also just stopped responding. The medicine kept her body alive long enough for her daughter to fly in to say goodbye. She passed peacefully Sunday afternoon surrounded by her family, myself included.

When I found out how bad the situation was on Saturday night, I drove right to the hospital with my mom and stayed until about three in the morning. Other members of my family had been there all evening and some even stayed overnight into Sunday. This outpouring of love and togetherness was something my grandmother would have loved. She was always trying to get us all together. Her soul must have been singing to see us all together, hugging and sharing memories.

I don't handle death well. I know that nobody really claims to handle it well, but I've always struggled since I was a little girl. When I was about 11 my aunt and uncle died nine hours apart. They were brother and sister, two separate causes. Michael had been battling cancer for over a year and Debbie died suddenly after a three day down hill battle with heart attack after heart attack, what we learned later were linked to a rare type of cancer. That sudden loss pulled my heart to pieces. And seeing my grandmother suddenly laid out in a hospital bed brought all of these memories flooding back.

How can this be happening? Why is it happening so fast? She's not done living yet. Grandma? What about grandpa? Wake up. You aren't done. We aren't done loving you here yet. Heaven can wait.

I stood by her side, holding her cool hand when my grandfather came up next to me. "Hey poo butt, thanks for coming. She's not doing too well. I think she's going to leave us soon." My grandfather is the single cutest person in the world, all curly hair and loving heart. He leaned in to his wife and said, "Hey sweetie, Emma's here. You look so good, sweetie. Emma's gonna talk to you now." He kissed her cheek and my cheek ripped in two, torn by a glass tear.

I cried hard and long. I apologized for not seeing her as much as I should, for fighting with her, for what was happening to her. I asked if she was ok leaving. I told her grandpa Frank would be taken care of. I told her how lucky she was to have the life she did. I told her it was ok to leave. I pinched her arm on the off chance she'd wake up to swat my hand away. I told her how sweet Frank was being to her. I told her about the boy I love and asked for any sort of cosmic help she could supply to help us out. Then I just cried and waited to be led away.

Even as we walked back to the waiting room, I couldn't get myself together. My mom went into the room with my other family as I tore off into a corner to let my heart scream. I thought of my Aunt, my grandmother, my uncle. But then I thought of the people left behind. How small my Grandpa looked, how much he loved her. How helpless it must make someone to watch the person you love most slip out of your hands. I missed them all then. But I could feel my aunt beside me, my grandmother too. I shut off the tears, fixed my hair, and went back to my family.

As much as a trauma like this sucks, I adore watching people come together in crisis. Priorities change and what really matters is all that remains, as cliche as it is. Sunday morning, more of my family had arrived and each husband held his wife. Each brother laughed with each sister. Each parent wiped a child's tear. You could feel each soul reach out and grab another's hand.

I sat with my cousins on the couch in my grandmother's room, watching her body breathe, knowing her soul was just hovering above her, smiling at us all. Her best friend's came to visit her. Her sweet grey friend hugged her and whispered, "Hello my friend. I'm so sorry to see you go. I love you, my friend." We all talked to her one more time before standing in a shaking circle, feeding each other tears and hope as the machines were turned off as my grandfather stroked her forehead. "Goodbye my sweetheart, I'll see you soon." He backed away while the wires were untangled and suddenly grabbed the doctor's arm. "I know we have to leave the room so she can get cleaned up, but I'd like one more kiss."

One more kiss.

I couldn't process the idea of never being able to kiss your love again. I can't process it. It's what hurts the most. I saw loving hands tighten on shoulders as the thought sank in. I wished my love was near me so I could squeeze his hand too. Soon, I hope.

After we left and my grandma's room was emptied of beeping and buzzing lights, we came back in to say goodbye. I approached her bed and my grandpa cut in front of me and grabbed my hand. "Sweetie, Emma's back to say goodbye. You look good." He kissed her forehead. "I'll see you soon." I rubbed his back, rubbed my grandma's arm, but couldn't squeak anything out of my mouth.

In the hall, my family remained in a group around my grandfather. It was like a group of emperor penguins keeping the smallest and coldest in the center for protection and warmth. Funerals were arranged and hugs were plentiful. My grandpa told us what a blessing this was, for us to be here together. He thanked us for the support and hugged us each goodbye.

I got home and slept hard and deep for hours. I had one dream. I dreamt of calling up the man I love and talking and laughing. I woke up in silence. As the night wore on, I grew brave. I dialed the number.

He answered.

Please please please hug your loved ones. Life changes so fast. Always be honest with your feelings and never EVER hide them because you never know when that Sunday dinner will be your last one. Never stay angry, never stay distant. Kiss your loved ones every day. Don't be afraid to take a leap of faith or make a random phone call. Take chances. Believe. Laugh often and lean on family and friends. Don't be afraid to love hard. Don't be afraid of staying in love, never letting it go. Your heart knows better than you do.

Love each other, my lovelies.
Send out good thoughts.

Rest now, grandma. We love you.

i can feel you touching me

All my friends tell me

I should move on

I'm lying in the ocean

Singing your song.

Ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah

ah ah ah ah ah

That's how you sang it.

Loving you forever 

can't be wrong,

even though you're not here

won't move on.

Ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah 

ah ah ah ah ah

That's how you played it.

And there's no remedy 

for memory

Your face is like a melody

It won't leave my head.

Your soul is haunting me

and telling me

that everything is fine

but I wish I was dead.

Every time I close my eyes,

it's like a dark paradise.

No one compares to you

I'm scared that you

won't be waiting on the other side.

Every time I close my eyes,

it's like a dark paradise.

No one compares to you,

I'm scared that you 

won't be waiting on the other side.

All my friends ask me

why I stay strong,

tell em when you find true love

it lives on.

Ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah

ah ah ah ah ah

that's why I stay here.

And there's no remedy

for memory

your face is like a melody,

it won't leave my head.

Your soul is haunting me

and telling me 

that everything is fine,

but I wish I was dead.

Every time I close my eyes

it's like a dark paradise.

No one compares to you,

I'm scared that you 

won't be waiting on the other side.

Every time I close my eyes

it's like a dark paradise.

No one compares to you,

but there's no you

except in my dreams tonight.

Oh oh oh oh 

ha ha ha ha

I don't wanna wake up 

from this tonight.

Oh oh oh oh

ha ha ha ha

I don't wanna wake up

 from this tonight.

There's no relief

I see you in my sleep,

and everybody's rushing me,

but I can feel you touching me.

There's no release 

I feel you in my dreams,

telling me I'm fine.

Every time I close my eyes,

it's like a dark paradise.

No one compares to you,

I'm scared that you

won't be waiting on the other side.

Every time I close my eyes,

it's like a dark paradise.

No one compares to you,

but there's no you

except in my dreams tonight.

Oh oh oh oh 

ha ha ha ha

I don't wanna wake up

from this tonight.

Oh oh oh oh

ha ha ha ha

I don't wanna wake up

from this tonight.

via *

night

I've found myself staying up

later and later

lately. 

I feel you next to me

while the rest of the world

is sound asleep,

your hands on my hip,

the curve of you

curved on me.

The hours tick away softly

as your voice and sighs

grow louder in my ears.

Two AM.

We lay on your floor

listening to music.

I lay on my back,

staring at the wilting

neon stars on the ceiling.

Three AM.

We curl into each other

on your couch.

I curl into myself,

pressed into my wall.

Four AM.

Your lips travel

the length of my spine.

A cold wind finds its way

across my back

through my sheets.

Five AM.

I see you above me,

brushing the hair 

from my eyes.

I close my eyes

to keep your ghost 

alive.

Six AM.

We lay together,

panting and alive.

I lay alone,

sweating nostalgia

from every pore.

As the sun leaks 

through the curtains

and the rest of the world

shatters awake,

my eyes declare defeat.

I fall asleep

with you by my side.

via *

Flashback: November 11th

I belted my black dress, threw on my red jacket, sat on the crushed velvet couch in my front room, rubbing my thumbs in hasty circles around each other. Your headlights pierced through my curtains of hair as I watched your car roll into my driveway. Before you could make your way up the snowy walk, I was out the door coming toward you. My heart pumped too fast, my face flushed, I prayed I wouldn't slip as you grabbed my hand and opened the door for me. While you walked back to the driver's side, I exhaled sharply, trying to calm down. You made me so nervous. I'd never been nervous around a boy. You made me nervous, thrills running through my fingertips.

The talk was light and colored by trepidation, the night we met slapped around in jest. The oddity of us actually going out after the strangest meeting possible.

You look nice in real lighting.
I like your voice when it's not shouting over the bass dropping speakers.
More water?
Your halloween costume was clever.
I'm glad we're really doing this.
More pizza?
Sorry for that night.
What a great memory.
I can't believe that was real.
I like your tattoos.
Any dessert?
I love your dress.
You're smart.
Want to see my apartment?
(Bet you say that to all the girls.)
Just you.

Suddenly, the girls next to us caught us mid conversation. "We're studying interpersonal relationships in school. Are you two on a first date? Cause so far he's really into you, and she's still unsure. But oh my god you guys are so cute, and so are your tights, girl. Give him a chance." Your face grew brighter than the candle in front of us and I laughed loudly as I darted my gaze to your nervous smile. They'd given your cool away. James Dean sunk back deeper on your chest as you hugged your shoulders up to your ears and hung your head. We stood to leave, I thanked the girls for the best dessert I could have hoped for, and we ran all the way to your car laughing and blushing.

You stayed quiet until we reached your apartment. Suddenly you seemed unsure and vulnerable. I gripped your hand, suddenly the strong one in the car. They are wrong, I whispered, I'm not unsure at all. Show me your apartment. You smiled in relief and James Dean sighed on your chest.

We watched The Walking Dead.
You held my hand as my heart disintegrated in your palm.
We drove along the nighttime streets toward my house.
Slow down, I thought, this can't be all. I'm not done tonight. 

We had to traverse through the unplowed narrows to my back gate and up to my back door. You left me at the door, no kiss on my lips, and started to walk away. I grabbed your forearm, right where your compass inked out, pointing north to my chest. I'll walk you to the gate, I offered. I'll be the gentleman, I joked.

Goodbye was hard and then you met my eye line.
"You'll be around, right? You're not going anywhere?"
No, love. I'm always here.
Finally your lips met mine, hungry and soft. We kissed against the gate, then against the door. You walked away and I shut the door softly behind me, falling against it, eyes closed, breath hot and alive.

I ran to my front door, threw it open and stood on the porch, on the tips of my toes, a bird waiting to fall out of the nest. Your car was on. You flipped on the overhead light, tilted your head with a coy smile and beckoned me with your finger. My heart exploded. My eyes blurred. I loved you then. I knew right then, and I let myself go. (I blush even now, months later. I can't type that memory with open eyes.)

Your headlights, the frosty air, your arms. They held me captive against the garage door, squeaking and staring as we kissed again and again. The stars spun as we finally let go, as you finally drove away.

I fell asleep still smelling you on my skin and tasting you on my lips.

via *

junk drawer

Outside the sky is trying to hold back October tears, letting a few get brushed away by the trees outside my window. Calm autumn tears. Transitional tears.

I'm huddled up in bed, a drawer from my bedside table in my lap, heavy with misplaced odds and ends. Bottles of lotion, old and new. Lip gloss from various Easter baskets and Christmas stockings. Old CD cases, lists of books to be read, batteries, bobby pins, dental floss, band aids. Everything labeled too essential to be far from my bed, but not essential enough to be sorted into a proper place.

My hand is swallowed by the open mouth in the drawer. I feel a bite and rip my hand out of the pile, dripping red from a hole lightly opened by a rogue thumbtack. I follow the stream of red and see that it's gathering on a folded up receipt page. It's crumpled near the back of the drawer, now cloaked in dark human red. I unfold the note.

A page of Barnes and Noble book recommendations, all crossed out. The top of the page proclaims "You may also like..." leading to a penned response that simply states "ME." Underneath that, "I love you, a lot. R."

The bleeding of my finger has stopped as the pregnant sky starts to fall. The page is ruined, marred by maroon. I contemplate keeping the page, blood and all. But I'm not that morbid. Not quite yet. This note was never junk, a love note that must have drifted into the drawer outside of a book's page, where it should have stayed. Maybe soon another note will drift into my hands, kept safer this time. Cherished and protected. This time.

via *