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Spilled Ink

@mymessyink / mymessyink.tumblr.com

My inner thoughts, ramblings, and writings
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Sometimes I need to hear you tell me you love me. Sometimes I need you to look me in the eyes, grab my hands, and tell me that you really, truly love me. I need to know that you aren’t going anywhere. I need to feel your love. Life is complicated. I know it’s hard to balance everything, but sometimes I need you too. Problems arise. People betray you, and work drains you. But I love you, and nights like these, I need you to love me a little harder, please.

Excerpt from a book I’ll never write

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And even after it all, I still believe in love. That’s crazy, isn’t it? I had my heart ripped out, but I still have faith in love. I believe in early mornings, the kind where rays of light peak through the curtains and there’s a thin layer of frost on the window and you’re cuddled up, sleepy and content. There’s lazy kisses and my face burrowed in your neck. I believe in holding hands and walking in the park. I believe in dancing to music at three in the morning while making cookies because for some reason chocolate chip cookies and milk sounded irresistible. I believe in kisses - lots of them. I believe in dates and flowers as well as sweats and pints of ice cream. I believe in finding the one and keeping them (through the good and bad). Despite it all, I believe in being wholly and completely in love for the rest of my life.

Excerpt from a book I’ll never write

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Not everyone is as lucky as I am. Trust me, it’s true. Not everyone gets a good morning text with hearts. Not everyone gets random phone calls because you ‘just wanted to hear my voice.’ Not everyone gets forehead kisses, nose kisses, cheek kisses, kisses at all. Not everyone gets someone to support them and cheer for them through the good and the bad. Not everyone gets to hold hands or dance in the park or laugh until they cry. Not everyone has inside jokes with someone they trust. Not everyone gets to love, but more than that, not everyone gets to feel loved. And because of you, I’m the luckiest person in the world.

Excerpt from a book I’ll never write

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I wonder where you are now, at the top of a mountain or lounging in a cabin somewhere. I wonder if you still love hot chocolate with mini marshmallows and caramel sauce. I still remember how you refused to drink the cup with one large marshmallow because it ‘just doesn’t taste the same.’ I wonder if you’ve gotten a dog yet or if you’ve called your sister lately. She misses you. I wonder if you still hate superhero movies almost as much as you hate romantic comedies. I wonder if you’ve finally learned to love yourself. I wonder if you still play baseball with your brother and sing loudly (and off-key) in the shower. I wonder if you’ve grown your hair long or gotten those new glasses you always talked about. I wonder if you’re happy. I don’t miss you anymore, but I still wonder about you.

Excerpt from a book I’ll never write

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He looked at her, and suddenly, I could see it in his eyes. What he was really saying when he said her name. He meant “I’m so happy to see you” when he greeted her with a beaming smile and “I care about you” when he asked how she was doing. He meant “you’re beautiful” when he asked if that was a new shirt she was wearing. His politeness whispered “I want you to be happy” when she introduced him to her new boyfriend. He really meant “I love you” when he said her name.
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What happened to us?  I remember how you called me in the middle of the night just because you wanted to "hear my voice before going to sleep," and how I melted inside.  You used to tell me that I was beautiful.  You used to drunk text me, saying how much you wished that I could be with you.  You used to want to facetime...all the time.  You'd be doing your thing, and I'd be doing mine.  But we'd both be comforted by the others' presence.  I was so sure that you loved me.  What happened?  It's been a week now since you've left to visit a friend, and we've barely said two sentences to one another.  You're busy.  I know.  But what happened to the effort?  What happened to "hey just wanted to tell you that I love you" or "you make me really happy?"  What happened to the little videos you'd send to ensure that I knew I was important to you.  What happened to all of the sweet things you used to do?  Babe, what happened to us?

excerpt from a book I’ll never write

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Do not fall in love with him. Don’t pay attention to the way his eyes light up when he laughs at one of your jokes. Don’t think that his arm slung around your shoulder signals deeper feelings. Do not answer his call at three in the morning. He’s drunk and sad and wants someone to talk to about his “woman problems.” He’s not confiding in you because he loves you. I know it’s hard to hear, but you’re his shoulder to cry on, not the lips he wants to kiss, hands he wants to hold, heart he wants to love. Do not imagine scenarios of the two of you. They’re not real. He doesn’t whisper that he loves you as he falls asleep. He doesn’t run to hug you or playfully sing you songs. Wake up. Don’t let your hope swell for all waves are doomed to crash eventually. Do not cling to what-ifs and maybes. Listen, do not dream of forever. Because a lover can be a friend, but a friend isn’t a lover.

Excerpt from a book I’ll never write

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I’ll never forget the way he looked at me - like I was the only thing in the room.  When our eyes met, everyone in the room could see how we felt about each other.  Sometimes I wonder if he ever really liked me at all, but then I remember that look.  That look said it all without using a single word.  Any doubt disappears.  He loved me, and I loved him. It was real. We were real.

excerpt from a book I’ll never write

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I want to make him breakfast on Saturday mornings.  I'll wake him up with kisses, Spongebob, and cinnamon rolls.  I want to sing with him in the car.  I want to dance together in the morning light and have pillow fights.  I want to grocery shop with him.  I'd run down the aisle with the cart, him laughing at my childish antics.  I want to roll over in the middle of the night and nuzzle into his neck.  I want Christmas traditions, baking cookies and decorating the tree.  I want to hold his hand in the park.  I want to go to bars together.  I want to go to the zoo, the aquarium, concerts.  I want to play basketball with him, and of course I'd kick his butt (and we'd both pretend he didn't let me win).  I want to laugh with him, kiss him, hold him, have sex with him.  I want him.

excerpt from a book I’ll never write

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Drunk text me. Let me know that when you’re at your most vulnerable, I’m the one on your mind. Call me at three in the morning when you’ve had a nightmare. I’ll come running to hold you. Show up at my door, no flowers, no gifts, and when I ask you why, tell me that you just wanted to see me. Hold my hand. Kiss my nose. Dance with me in the middle of the street. Tell me how much I matter to you, and when I roll my eyes, tell me again. Write me a letter. Sing me a song. Cuddle with me. Please, I just want to know how you feel.

Excerpt from a book I’ll never write

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He looked at me with those big teddy bear eyes, welling with tears, and I almost collapsed right there in the doorway. “I don’t want this.” His voice was soft and raspy from crying all night. “I want you. I don’t know what I want. I don’t have a damn clue what the future holds, whether I really want to teach or whether I want a home in the suburbs. I know I love you. I know I want you.” I was fighting back tears now, trying my hardest not to feel. If I felt the pain, I don’t think I’d recover. “I know that I will always want you by my side.” “Baby,” he sighed. He stroked my face gently and wiped the tears away that I didn’t even realize had slipped out. “Hmmm?” “I love you and want you too.” “So why does this feel like goodbye?” Heat burned the back of my throat from trying to keep the meltdown at bay. “Because it is.”

Excerpt from a book I’ll never write

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"Don't you get it?! I am terrified. I am so scared of losing you. I'm worried you'll wake up and realize that you wasted time on me. You'll see me differently. My quirks will become annoying, and the things you used to love most about me, you'll grow to hate." "I won't." He stepped forward, reaching to move my hair from my face. "I've heard those words before." "Baby," he whispered, gently pulling on my chin to force me to look at him. "I love you." I opened my mouth to argue with him. "No. Don't. I love you. I love you," he paused for emphasis. "I love you. I'm not going anywhere and I love every part of you. No matter what. I know it's difficult to believe, but I love every little thing about you. Your big ears. Your cute nose." He tapped my nose playfully with his finger. "The dark parts of your heart. Baby, believe me. I will love you for as long as you let me, and if that's forever, then fantastic." Before I could say anything else, he wrapped his arms protectively around me. In that moment, I am equally comforted and terrified because I've never had something I was so scared to lose.

Excerpt from a book I'll never write

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I would love to know what he thinks of me now. Does he say that we were something great, but it just didn't work out? Or something, maybe, more poetic like: we were a star, shining bright, but like all others, we were doomed to collapse in on ourselves. Probably not. He never did enjoy poetry much. Maybe he says that I was a mistake. Maybe that I was a hookup that never meant anything. Maybe I was just another name in a long list of girls that he could've loved. Or worst yet, maybe he never speaks of me at all.

Excerpt from a book I'll never write

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Things have changed. I can feel you losing interest in me. You don’t have time for me anymore, and I know you’re busy. I'm trying not to be clingy, but I love you. I want to be in your life, and I feel the distance ballooning between us. You have work and school. I get that life gets hard sometimes. I’m not asking to be your number one priority. I’m asking to be on the list. You're on mine, so I don't think I'm asking too much. I'm worried I'm losing you, yet you're doing nothing about it.

Excerpt from a book I'll never write

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