Sometimes, goodbyes drag out much longer than you intend for them to. And not just in bitter airport terminals and on tear stained shirtsleeves. Sometimes, you walk into a restaurant on an average Wednesday evening and realize with mild chagrin that the last time you walked through the same doors, you were following them. And it clicks for you why the parking lot felt different. That it wasn’t the landscaping after all. Or, sometimes, you’re minding your own business, years after someone has walked out of your life, and suddenly, a song comes on the radio, or you take a certain left turn. Then everything explodes in the same color as the last time they were in your passenger seat. Sometimes, you hear dialogue from the television while you’re making dinner and you stop cold, heart in your throat, because it could just as easily be their voice, for all the times you watched the show together. And sometimes, you’re popping a sleeping pill at 2a.m. and you’re struck, as your eyes drift to the glowing digital clock, remembering how they could never get to sleep without a little help, either. Sometimes, just sometimes, goodbyes echo in the moments where you least expect them.
Sometimes you’re stuck saying goodbye for the rest of your life.
To the young man out there that stays fighting love, I hope the girl that left your heart shattered and closed up with a thousand band-aids twisted round it, never gets the satisfaction of leaving you loveless.
I hope one day you will understand that your love in its own is too much a gift to be hidden. I hope one day, someone, anyone, walks in and reminds you that love truly is worth passing on, from one heart to the other.
I hope that someday, this someone reminds you that everyone deserves that out-of-breath love, at least once. I hope you understand that love is above all beautiful. I hope she doesn’t leave you loveless.
First, I want to see how your eyes perceive a sunset, all the pink and gold. Your facades shimmering with the little bit of dusk that is left, slowly slipping away. Then, I want to follow you into your darkness. I want to know what the monsters looked like under your childhood bed, what they look like now in your reflection. I want to feel the death grip of your vices, the constricting of your veins. I want to experience the emptiness, the heartbreak of your past, and the crushing weight of your future. I want to stretch out my arms to greet your growing pains. I want to wrap your flaws in a blanket and your insecurities in a smile. I want to taste the salt of your tears and paint starlit skies on the inside of your eyelids. I want to explore your nightmares and understand your demons. Then, I want to dig down to your lowest depth, and shine a light into the caverns, echoing acceptance throughout.
1. The darkness came knocking today didn’t it?
2. You welcomed it with open arms.
3. Where did you put it? Did you move your light in order to make space for it?
4. Did it overstay its welcome? Is your light tired of hiding?
5. The darkness came knocking today didn’t it?
6. Please don’t dim your light to make space for it.
It happens to the best of us: writer’s block. Whether your writing efforts are coming up empty or your thoughts are just too jumbled to make sense, freewriting (or stream-of-consciousness writing) is a great creative writing technique for generating new ideas or developing a vague idea into something concrete—like an essay, short story, or poem. Some authors even use freewriting to flesh out or organize their novels. Other writers simply enjoy the freedom of letting their thoughts flow, with the editorial/critical side of their brains turned off. Amazing things can result when you let your mind run free!
And if we’re being honest, I have never felt more at home than I do when my face is buried in your chest with your arms wrapped tightly around me. You have a way of making the rest of the world disappear. I am still awestruck every single time you tell me you love me because I don’t know how I got so lucky.
Sometimes the one you love, loves you back. 2/15
Who knew love could be such a tangible thing? Like, holding his hand? That was unreal. Surreal. Synchronized heartbeats, so steady they would make a metronome envious. Who gave love permission to crash into our lives and make holding hands with someone feel like holding galaxies in your palm? Galaxies that embody everything you’ve ever wanted, everything you’ve ever needed. Wishing stars, white hot suns, wild desire. Who gave love permission to make kissing someone feel like crossing oceans and coming to a resting place? Exhausted, beyond rescue, just about to give up. And then met with fanfare, met with peace. A place to hang your coat. To come in from the cold and feel the warmth in every crevice of your mind and body.
Before him, everyone I’d ever touched or kissed was just a person. Just another messy person. Sweat, teeth, saliva. All the same. But he was not the same. He was real. Real in a way that no one else ever was or will be. I don’t know who allowed love to make that so. And the thing is, I might not have expected it. But, what the universe gives cannot be taken back.
So you have an idea for a story. That first spark, that first “oooh, this would be a cool thing to write” moment. You don’t have much of a plot yet, but you know you want to write this. If you’re anything like me, you make one of these two mistakes: You start writing instantly and about 500 words into the writing session you realize you have no idea what you’re doing. You don’t have a story, you…
you desecrated the shrines of my fathers
you pushed my tongue, stole my culture
paraded your wickedness as my savior
you refused the right to let me own my narrative
you butchered my names
you brought war on my land
you call my people “savages”
you steal our histories
and wear them proudly in your museums
you wash away our achievements
you carry it as yours
you “discover” what was already mine
you plant puppets, killed our leaders
you desecrated the shrines of my mothers
when we worshipped nature, you laughed at us
now, you want to carry our ways, learn from us
we refuse to write softness into our stories
for you to feel comfortable
we refuse to let anyone but us own our narrative
we refuse to believe your lies again
you will not spit in the face of our fathers
and think his children will not spit back
in your face.
1. High school is fucking crazy.
2. There is no wrong time in your life to fall in love.
3. The girl you refer to as “the other woman” calls you the same names. It’s important you realize this.
4. When your only friend is your dog, remember that you are also your own friend.
5. Asking for help, is the hardest thing in the world to do, but its so important you learn how to do it.
6. Only drink with people you trust.
7. Its okay to want two people at the same time.
8. There is nothing wrong with you.
9. People who have to hide behind anonymity are people you do not have to be afraid of.
The tears roll down my cheeks like cracks in my resolve,
And for a moment I wonder what I’m still doing here,
Why I’m still leaking out emotions for someone who,
Can’t be bothered to toss more than five words in my direction