Last Smoke Before The Snowstorm
I need to invest in a compass because it keeps going everywhere. It points to you and then it doesn’t. Day and night is when it seems to spin. My days lately have been just busy enough to keep you from out of my head. But the nights, the night you completely consume my brain. Knife and fork, you’re eating my brain. I’m scared that when you’re done there will be nothing left. Please, spare me. I miss you, still.
I am the Yin and The Yang.
And you’re a bull.
You’re a fucking forest fire .
And I’m sorry I never took the time to understand you and your horns. I just kept on the tunnel vision. Tunnel vision of heartbreak. The whole world seemed that way, broken and cruel. You being part of the world but in reality, you were never the enemy. After Manuel and my little Gavin left me. I was a fucking bitch to you. A cunt. A paranoid bitch. And my God, no wonder so many people hate me. Have hated me. Yin took over. Her dark fucking hands took over. And everything I decided to touch, to interact with, bled dry. And I know now why a lot of people have left. But I have forgiven myself because I am not that girl anymore. I believe that over all this time that I’ve been alone without you, Yang fucking killed Yin. I don’t think that could ever happen unless you had gone the way you did. And now, Yin’s ghosts just exists inside me. And reminds me of all the fucked up shit I did.
Being Yang is strange and odd. But I am beginning to love her, myself. I really am. I love how long my hair has grown. And I don’t completely loathe my body when I look in the mirror anymore. I don’t try and find you in other people anymore because I’d rather be alone than without you. And to add, it’s a waste of fucking time. Because who I am kidding? You’re my soulmate. And I am done trying to convince myself otherwise. I don’t try and find myself at the bottom of pill bottles, silver blades, rolled up dollar bills, and pipes. I am clean. I let God back in. And I have a job. And I am not angry at you anymore for leaving, I understand. I just wish you’d realize that it’s me you belong with you regardless. Yes, you’re right. Maybe, what we had wasn’t the best. But sweetheart, didn’t you used to enjoy the fire before winter hit?
I gave you Summer. The word Summer within itself should already remind you of us right off the bat, because it was ours for the past 4 years. It would have been 5 had you still been around. I reflected that sunrise in my eyes on that steep little hill on May 10, 2013. And I felt your burning lips on mine. Priscilla says you and I are like fucking matches that eventually we just burnt each other out. But man, what she doesn’t know is that it’s been burning since the 8th fucking grade. There’s no way it’ll ever die out no matter how bad we want to extinguish it. Winter hit after heartbreak. It killed all the flowers that existed in my head. It burnt out the sun in my eyes. But even then, I tried to make it look nice. I tried to pretty it up as much as I could. I remember I’d anticipate your arrival in the afternoons. I’d clean my whole room. and I’d make the bed. And I’d set up the speakers to play the music to set the mood. We’d lay there all afternoon. Don’t you remember?
The winter frost used to paint my apartment window that showed a view of the street cars. I could stare at you forever in that lighting. The winter frost used to paint my window. And my bed would lay beside it. And you’d lay beside me. I could kiss you for hours. We’d kiss for hours in the winter. I didn’t need a sweater when I had you. Didn’t need a sweater when we’d make fire when our lips touched. We’d play Benjamin Francis. We’d invited all those people back to my apartment and smoked all these different flavored cigarettes that Addie brought. We made a home out of my apartment for other people. And it just made me realize how badly I would want to build a home with you. Have a bunch of kids or maybe foster kids. Because I know with my heart and your heart, the world is ours for the taking. It always has been. Even if it wasn’t to children, to the broken. To friends. Imagine that. Giving hope back to people.
With our heart. Music. Art. Films. Children. A big lake house. We’d do it all you and I. We’d be unstoppable. We’d critic each other. We’d build each other up. We’d thrive.
Briella, I saw your recent thing you tagged me in. It was never that you weren’t enough. It was that I wasn’t. And you know damn well, that when were good. We’re fucking good. And when we’re bad. We’re fucking bad.
Briella, we could be good now. Fuck, we could be fucking great. I don’t know if you still love me but I’d like to think you still do. I may be delusional and I may not which is why I still write you these words.
Briella, I know you’re a little broken and fucked up right now. And I’m not too sure on how bad the bruises are because lately you’ve been wearing too much make up. But know that I’ve got patience enough for the both of us. I could handle rough and rusted ways. I could patch you up. I can take care of you. And I know you know I can. Drop your pride. Let me plant kisses on your bruises. And your deep and hollow caves under your eyes. Let me cook you breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Let me eat you for dinner. Let me trace your skin. I promises you, my hands aren’t rough anymore. Let me sing for you. I know you fell in love with someone else’s voice. But let me show you the courage I have now. Let me show you how I’ve been working on it and how it’s better than it has ever been. Let me be a fucking dork and make you laugh. Let me show you my loyalty. Let me show you I’m committed. Let me show you that we can have the future we used to dream of.
WE CAN STILL HAVE IT.
You’re one of the biggest advocates I know of not letting fear decided what we get to have and what we don’t. The cards were right back then, we shouldn’t have stayed together. But You belong with me, now. Or hell, let’s meet up. Bring your mother’s tarot cards. I bet you the cards would say otherwise this time around. Or go to your mom. Ask her to do them. Think of me in the back of your head. They’re gonna say to come on home. They’re gonna say, “Yes, you guys were wrong for each other. You fucked up. But the timing is perfect now. Go on.” Come back to me. And let’s fight for this. Let’s talk it all out. Let’s mend it all. I’ve got sewing kits. I love you.
I have loved you from the minute I have met. I know you’re scared. I know you’re not as strong and built as you make yourself out to be. My bull, come back to me. Life is too short.
When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with someone, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.
Sweetheart, my life is starting. You’ve been waiting for this. I have been waiting for this. I’m clean and I am going to stay clean. I don’t have a heavy tongue anymore. I’m patient and kind. I have a job. I am the girl you fell in love with and I am the girl that you decided to talk back in 8th grade on a random day.
I am me, it’s me Briella. You know me. You know me.
Stop being so fucking scared..
And if I’m wrong. If it’s because of this other girl that you aren’t back yet. I’ll let you go. I’ll let you figure out what it is that you want. But know if you ever come back, I’ll open the door no questions asked. I’ll give it till July 9th. When Midnight strikes. If you don’t message me saying you might.. just might want to give this another go before the strike.. I’ll let you go. I won’t text, call, tweet about you, or write about you. I’ll let our story die. I just want you happy and I’m sure that every time I reach out it’s just one big gash to your heart. It’s battery acid. And I just want so much more for you. Even if that more isn’t me.
But know, know that I’ll open the door if you ever decide to knock again. I promise.
It wasn’t that you weren’t enough. It was me. I wasn’t. I wasn’t enough for myself. I didn’t believe that I was enough for you. You were perfect. From your bruised hands, your heavy tongue that indeed would shoot out deathly bullets but also laid down the best kind of love and touch I’ve ever felt on my skin, your hands that could move people when you strum your guitar, your eyes that always listen along with your ears. We always seemed to hear each other even when we weren’t speaking. We’d finish each others sentences. And even before we dated, I always knew when something was wrong. I could hear you screaming from a mile away.
We disconnected when I let the seasons make me change with them.
But they don’t have power over me anymore. Neither do the tides.
Briella, I am not winter anymore. I’m Summer. I killed Yin.
I love you, Briella.