i wrote prose

When I had you it didn’t feel like anything was ever wrong, even when it was. Every other part of my life could have been falling apart but when I was with you, it still felt like everything was okay. You allowed me to ignore the fact that I hated my job because knowing I got to come home to you got me through the work day. And I thought this was a blessing but it was actually just keeping me from making the changes in my life that I needed to make. I didn’t try to make a life I’d be happy with on my own because you were the best part of my life and I thought I’d always have you. But this was bad because you were my strongest painkiller, you didn’t actually make everything better, you just made it feel like it was.
Well, you’ll break his heart and he’ll break yours. But you won’t forget each other, even if one day you walk past him and neither of you acknowledges it. That’s the thing about first loves, you never forget them, they are the only person who gets your whole untouched heart. They get all the love you’ve saved up for this moment and they get to keep it forever. You may never speak again but you can guarantee that you can still picture his eyes looking into yours as he said those three words, the way he kissed you afterwards and couldn’t stop repeating those words over and over until you were both too tired to speak. However you’ll also always remember the last time he said those three words, and told you that he was going to come back for you, the way he made you believe that a happy ending did exist for both of you. Those memories will come back to you in waves, all the firsts and all the lasts, the good and the bad, but what’s important is the fact that your first love is just that, the first but not the last.
—  from me to you
I gave up on you because you didn’t do enough to make me stay - I gave up on you because you just weren’t worth fighting for anymore.
—  c.f. // “i hate this part”

I would have told Hosea to leave her. 

No one should have to hold on, I’d say, to a heart that doesn’t want them back.

No one deserves a straying soul, a fleeting kiss, someone who devotes themselves more to the dirt than ever to him. 

There are better women with less stains on their clothes, I’d convince him, they will love you like you deserve.

You shouldn’t have to crucify your sainthood for the sake of her.

I would have told Hosea to leave her. But I’m glad he wouldn’t have listened.

Because, how many times have I deserved to be forsaken? How long have I fought off my destiny of being loved unconditionally?

Since my first breath, born with clenched fists, I’ve lived half in the shadows, half in my idols, half in the worth I find by giving myself away to temporary places. 

How many times have I been an imperfect bride?

I’m a goner, I’m Gomer, and I would have left me a long time ago. But instead of moving on, God never did, for His grace covers me more than my mistakes ever could.

— 

the ultimate unrequited love - Christina Hopp

a poem from my book The Morning After Relapse

I wish you had met me when I still had that light in my eyes, that love was something I desired and didn’t hide from, that I didn’t always question your motives with everything you say. I wish you were my first so you could experience a completely different me, but that’s not going to happen.
—  my wish to you 
Leave places more beautiful than you found them. Leave cities with fond memories. Leave the past where it belongs, and only take the lessons you learned with you. Leave the dead to rest; don’t carry the weight of their ghosts. Leave those who hurt you behind; anger is just a sign that you still care. Leave memories in photographs and journals and songs. Leave people stronger than you found them; leave them better off for having met you.
—  EMJ // Instructions for Leaving Things Behind

I hope that in the future they invent a small golden light that follows you everywhere and when something is about to end, it shines brightly so you know it’s about to end.

And if you’re never going to see someone again, it’ll shine brightly and both of you can be polite and say, “It was nice to have you in my life while I did, good luck with everything that happens after now.”

And maybe if you’re never going to eat at the same restaurant again, it’ll shine and you can order everything off the menu you’ve never tried. Maybe, if someone’s about to buy your car, the light will shine and you can take it for one last spin. Maybe, if you’re with a group of friends who’ll never be together again, all your lights will shine at the same time and you’ll know, and then you can hold each other and whisper, “This was so good. Oh my God, this was so good.”

I always imagine that if we’d loved each other more gently it would have worked,“ she said. “We wouldn’t have hurt each other so much that it became impossible to come back. Our love was rushed, we knew there was an expiration date to “us”. As that date got closer and closer we took all the love we had for each other and used it as a defense mechanism and it turned into hate. The damage had been done and now matter how much I miss you now, I know there is no way to go back to how things were back then, no matter how much I wish we could.
—  from me to you
you had me wrapped around your finger for months, all I ever wanted to do was make you happy. Everything I did was to make you happy, and while I was making you happy, my happiness suffered. It suffered so much that now that you’re gone there is nothing left for me, the day you walked out, you took all my happiness with you. Why? Because that made you happy.
—  from me to you, as always 
your hands;
a slow burn under my stomach
growing unbearable
uncomfortably warm, it itches
but my hands are tied up in yours

and you did make me feel beautiful
you said it over and over
spitting the murmurs out like sugar pills
until I started to sink into the words
taking them as gospel
from the lips of a goddess

I crave feeling needed
and it seemed like you really required
the warmth of my breath
and the iciness that always accompanies my fingertips
to bring your own heart to beating
but I should have seen how soundly you slept without me

you were my sunshine
you were my golden everything
that coated the world in a rosy hue
and promised only the best times ahead
you were heaven to behold
and I was luckless Lucifer

but I no longer see myself as helpless
nor you as the savior I waited for
for you are a storm, a poison to my system
wrapped up in the sweetest of smiles
and for the toxins we carried on our tongues and fed each other quietly
the only antidote is time

—  See, Someday I Won’t Belong to You (December 20)

“Why did you still love him even if you knew that he would leave eventually?” a friend who had no interest in that part of my life asked, leaving me dumbfounded.

“Everyone always has two choices. My first one was to ignore my feelings and regret not loving him while he was here. The other one is to regret loving him after he left.” I answered, memories of the past flooding my mind.

“And you chose the second one…”

—  excerpts from a book i’ll never write // lessons (#8) // for the record, i never regretted loving him

This is why it hurts the way it hurts.

You have too many words in your head. There are too many ways to describe the way you feel. You will never have the luxury of a dull ache.

You must suffer through the intricacy of feeling too much.

THE GARDEN OF EARTHLY DELIGHTS

It is the most popular attraction that the afterlife has to offer. Millions & frolicking millions of heaven’s souls crowd its glistering gates, which open for exactly forty-five minutes on every full moon. If you’re lucky enough to catch it on an eclipse, you get to have a whole three hours there as a blessing from the gods. Every moment spent in The Garden of Earthly Delights is a moment that seemingly lasts an infinity. The spirits that are fortunate enough to enjoy its splendour, return blissful, with buoyant little sprigs of light gathering in their irises. It’s the chamber of eternal peace. Sometimes, when Hades comes to visit and hell spills over, the underworld’s best behaved are allowed a once in an afterlife’s chance to visit the garden for themselves. The only catch is that once you’ve visited the garden, you’re never able to visit again (due to high demand), the gods deemed it unfair for anyone to get to witness its glories twice when there are so many others who still haven’t been, when there are so many others losing what’s left of their souls to its immortal shrine, its uncanny splendor. Spirits thrash, become restless and drive themselves insane over it. If anyone is ever caught attempting to enter when the gates are closed or if they’ve already been guests before, they are immediately banished to Tartarus, left to rot forever amongst the darkest of monstrosities. The punishment is extreme, but the gods see it as fitting considering how hopelessly desperate some of the spirits are to get back once they’ve been let in. Growing greedy and insouciant, desperate for more. As if one go were not enough. The Garden of Earthly Delights is the only place in the afterlife that resembles earth. The only place anywhere that resembles it. Spirits who experience it feel, for a few generous moments, as if they are alive again. Life, or even the mere suggestion of it, becomes the most valuable experience for one that’s been dead. To only feel the sunlight against their skin again. To only hear the birds chirp. Some spirits watch the citizens of earth from up above and sit in still, uncaged wonder: how do they not see it? all the multitudinous beauty that surrounds them? how can they be satiated without feeding on its ragged charms? how do they sleep at night, in that crystal ball? how must they be so blind? Humans crave paradise, ignoring the vast, grizzly paradise that bore them, when all the dead crave is the earth. 

in california we spill dirt through woven fingers and swallow the earth. her mouth is golden where it touches the river, choking prayers in lungs. we lie beneath and this is what graves breathe: moonlight girls with coal dust skin, clawed eyes & broken teeth. above us, the town is made of lights. we weld bones together, hold fast to the soft skin on backs before it bleeds. I raise the sieve over her head and rain metal into the cracks of her body. 


“boomtown” r.l.