I’ve never been good at expressing my feelings. I hate confrontation, and fear making someone, especially you, mad. You whisper in my ear every night, ‘I’m always here for you.’ I trust you, and that’s a big thing for me. It’s not easy though, to just say how I feel. I fall way too hard and fast. I love too easily. One day, you’ll be like the rest. One day you’ll realize, I’m not easy to love. I take my feelings I cannot express, and take it out on you. I get so frustrated with my mess of emotions and thoughts, I get upset by the smallest thing. It sets me off. I take you always being here for me for granted, because I say stuff you don’t wanna here. Fuck, I just want to express my feelings for you, and with you. I’m sorry it’s so hard. I’m sorry you’re going to get tired of it too.
I long ago abandoned myself to a blind lust for the written word. Literature is my sandbox. In it I play, build my forts and castles, spend glorious time. It is the world outside that box that gives me trouble.
maybe i’m not easy to love.
i have a strong heart. it’s a strong
heart but sometimes it still
hurts when people try to pull on it.
it’s my lungs that are the
problem. i lose my breath faster
than i lose my headphones.
it’s like my lungs are two balloons
being squeezed too tightly
and my chest concaves
and i feel like they’re going to just
pop. i’m not easy to love.
it’s more than just that.
i do impulsive things like cut
all of my hair off and tell you i
love you before i’m sure
i do. and one day you’ll wake up
and you’ll notice that i’m
not as kind as you thought i was.
or i’m not as smart.
or as pretty.
and you’ll realise i’m not
easy to love. you’ll
realise you just wanted to believe
i am. that you’d managed
to convince yourself otherwise.
i. when you fall in love with an angel, you must understand that there are things you will not understand.
ii. when you first go to run your hands through his hair, his halo will slice your palm. and it will hurt. he will mend it with the touch of one golden finger, and will leave so abruptly that he is gone almost before you blink. the last thing you see will be him standing in the doorway, a terrified expression on his face and blood in his hair.
(later, he tells you that he didn’t realize how breakable humans could be. when he explains what it takes to make an angel bleed, you start to understand.)
iii. ask him about the sky, about stars and suns and galaxies light years away, about how the universe looks like a blooming garden.
do not ask about lucifer, because your angel will become a soldier before your eyes.
do not, do not, do not ask about god.
do not ask about rebellious older brothers and absentee fathers, do not infer about a war you know nothing of.
iv. in a science class you are taking simply to get the credit, your teacher will be talking about quantum physics. she will call planets “celestial bodies” and suddenly you will only be able to think of the way his mouth curls in at the sides, of all the puckered scars that criss-cross his torso, of the graceful arch on the bottom of his foot. when the teacher calls on you and asks you if you are alright, you will flush an even deeper red.
(at times it is lovely to be in love with an angel. but other times, it is not.)
v. when you fight, it is like the world is ending. his anger conjures a thunderstorm, and soon the entire state is three inches deep in water. you shatter a picture frame. a bolt of lightening catches the house across the street on fire. you are screaming at the top of your lungs—something about duty, something about god—and there is a crash of thunder that shakes the house. the weathermen talk about the storm for days, and you change the channel.
vi. then there are the times when he doesn’t visit for months on end, and when he finally comes back to you, he is not himself. there are new scars across his chest, and he does not speak. he sits with you in his arms for hours, his nose buried in your hair and his arms squeezed tight, so tight.
he does not cry. you do not cry.
you do not cry.
vii. when you fall in love with an angel—oh, sweetheart. it’s too late to take it back now.
I know you think I’m selfish because I ended up leaving and wrecking what you thought was perfect. And I know you think that just because I left it means that none of it was ever real. But whatever you think is fine, because I know deep down, I used to care about hurting you so much I would let myself suffer to prevent it. And that wasn’t healthy and that wasn’t fair and that’s not something I’ll ever do again.
this is the part where you let go.
where the pain in your heart
merges with the softness in your soul.
where a deep breathe takes you
from unsteady to okay.
where you start to find the path
that leads you the right way.
this is the part where you let go.
breathe in, breathe out.
It’s been 263 days since I heard your voice I still miss you It was my fault, my choice But don’t you dare think for a second that I rejoice In the fact that your December was painted with tears 2 years We were together I thought our love was clear Because in my eyes you appeared To be the one I would adhere to For the rest of my life The person who took away my fears Our love would persevere through it all Like a crystal chandelier Whenever you were near you would light up my world Until the bulb burnt out A little seed of doubt Began to sprout And all that remained was dirt Too dry to grow anything new No more wet morning dew only clouds of grey hues That reminded me of you And how we threw everything we had into a slew baby those shoes had too many holes they couldn’t carry us through that winter storm you know that’s true if only we knew that it would come to this that our love would fall into an abyss you gifted me rose coloured glasses that poisoned my mind with bliss because you were my first love my first kiss do you miss me? or do you dismiss the thought of my lips tracing your body your skin how have you been? has your heart become thin like mine or have you once again Given into sin because you can’t win in love. Can you? theres no winning in love.