Come Down Now

It was a love I created wholly and entirely in my head. It could have been real at some point, it felt very real. I'm still stomaching the fact that almost five of the most essential years of my romantic life were spent subconsciously needing him. He was the one thing that insisted on healing the wounds he continually created. My anchor represents those scars, the ones he pulled open, the ones I picked. The details are endless, and everything I have of him is tucked neatly in letters and hard drives, nothing I can or plan to throw away. The pack rat excuse has gotten me nowhere. At this point I'm not waiting, just holding on. Grasping so tightly to an aesthetic, a fairytale sentiment. I know it isn't real, but it's like there is a part of me that will always have some undying hope that it was - that nothing will compare to how unconditional it felt. But we made it up, wrapped it in lyrics, and pretended with every solitary inch of naivety we had left. "Everything looks perfect from far away". We were so far away.

The Waiting Line

Why can't you let me leave your life? Why have you prolonged this wait? Do you know that it leads to nowhere? Have you always known? How does "us" still possibly exist? After everything? Why do you expect me to watch as you give them the whims you etched in me? Am I only just in case? Did your love slowly fade? Do you miss me when the ocean hits your eyes? Do you know how much I miss you when I'm trapped beneath the skyline? Will you ever set me free? Do you think about how young we must have been? How naive? Do I get to keep your name? Whose smile is backstage? Who stands in line? Where do we go from here? Who gets left behind? Can it not be me this time?

Leo

Somewhere minutes away there is a meteor shower,
Jupiter fragments. I wonder how his hair would smell,
when his ocean eyes would crash right through me. The tickle of peaceful breathing, popcorn ceilings. Minutes away, the sky is falling.

At the bottom

The stagnation of each day is something I have grown used to, the dullness that has virtually entangled itself into the core of my soul. I miss how delicate I once was, how charming reassurances swept me off my feet. Am I truly bored with all and everything? Or is it something more unsound? If there were any real reasons to put faith in, I would give them to him. Being hurt meant being loved, and the downfall meant there was something to dwindle from. I am stuck in this place where existence is indolent, life is tedious at best. There is no way of pinpointing when the goosebumps left my skin, when all of life's aesthetic value became tarnished. My books don't read the same, my mind does not wander to any solitary place. The muses get by through slips of memory, souvenirs of my sentiment. I could be doing and feeling so much more than this, not wasting away in the aftermath of surrender. At the very least I can admit to that - I wholeheartedly gave up. I am lingering between having learned a lifetime of lessons and finding the means to use them. The past is my southern comfort, it is blinding and hopeful. Yet it makes no exception to the things I have become introspectively isolated from. I miss the tragic, naive, bittersweet, trusting, unusual, ignorant, sincere shell of a girl that needed nothing more than a notebook and well-grounded hope. Why has she gone where I cannot follow?

There Is

The regret never quite sunk in, it sort of faded in the belief that he would be back someday. It felt as though there had never been as much promise in anything as there was in the love I had for him. Hopeless to his every word, weak for the life I thought he would give me. There is this realm of waiting that I stood in for so long, and in it I only made room for him. He never showed up. I stayed in a trust absolutely blinded by adoration, certainty. Somewhere in the pit of my logic, I knew he'd never come. But at that point, I would rather have been waiting all my life for him than spend a moment of it pretending to love somebody else. I became incapable. Only now do I see how make-believe it all was, how I made him an anchor to my life, holding it still and in place. A piece of me has accepted never to find a love as unconditional as ours, the rest of me fears it never truly existed.

Heavy Heart

I wonder what love is. The way it tickles, pricks. Makes you known to senses you weren't even sure existed. The sensitivity your skin begins to know, with the grazing of an arm, a mere glance can send numbness to cover your entire soul. Turning red, hit the ceiling. Sometimes it's not always easy to tell the way you love someone. There are instances where you say it, even to yourself, and you know you mean it. But the rest of the time, when you're not caught up in that person in that moment, it doesn't really seem true anymore. But sometimes it is. I wonder what it means to know real love, because what is built in my head is only a whimsical hope. It was never anything more. I look at him from across a room and with every bone in my body feel safer than a child in its mothers arms. There is a completeness to my smile when he draws it on my face. One I hate, but can't help but love - mostly for what it's worth. I didn't know much about sincerity until I began to see how much he means every word. How every time we touch, I don't feel so alone in the universe anymore.

Let Go

"Don't let the imaginary person in your head

keep you from loving the real one right in front of you."

Blindfolds Aside

I watch people in the ways their lives shape around the greater significance of what has grown to be important. There is so little morality in the changing of ways. When a person discovers the sincerity of being in love is it wrong to reject their naivety? They will call it jealousy, deem it selfish. Sometimes it is. Secretly we hope that somewhere along the lines there is a place that will leave all of the lovers in the world to weep alone, flashing them memories of all that once was. Can anybody really keep it? Are we truly jealous of those who find the love we were all promised? How can it even begin to exist, is what I wonder most. Are we simpleminded enough to believe utter dependance may last a lifetime, do we need nothing else? The preciousness in being smitten is somewhat overruled by the fact that human nature is selfish. We find our 'other half' and every stepping stone that made us whole in the first place all of a sudden becomes a burden to this undying love. Enter love, exit reality. We only see these holes too late. By then we're in the corners of our own world, weeping at the best of times. I would like to apologize to every stepping stone I may have cast aside. Love means absolutely nothing when it casts the world aside, nothing when it is not selfless.

keep your enemies closer

So he says, right? Well, he says a lot of things. They're there to make you melt, because they will, if you're not strong. Too big a part of me knows better than to fall for the things everyone else falls for. Competition is not my key trait, I cringe and shudder at the thought. It's the simplicity, I guess. The awareness that this all just fits together. Perfection. The bigger crock of shit on the planet, and we all fell for it. Somewhere between the novels and movies and media frenzy we were all trying to love or hate - we lost. We got sucked into the ideals of a screen, a song. Now the Seth Cohen's of the world have something better to exist for besides comic books and video games. It's like this because one day the guy your parents picked on in high school actually went somewhere in life by writing a hit, teen drama. Because he saw your parents, and noted every stupid thing they cared about, every unsolved relationship they were in. The only difference was, as a graphic novel loving wallflower - he never fit in. So he created a version of himself that could score the Summer Roberts' of our time. Enter indie rock. 

He is...

"I feel invincible"

Like Lucy in the sky. That was the majority of my weekend, who I was anyway. There's something restless that will eat at me for days, and I was hoping it could disappear somewhere here, with him. I bet the walrus weights so much, but we'd love him anyway. You're only as high as you fall. I would bet my life on that. The way we tangle, and fit. The way a kiss is always a little more than just that, the cheesiness of it all. There is still this wall of something. Like strength almost, because after today I might need it.

Don't be naive, and don't forgive. Please don't let me learn that lesson again. I don't want to walk into disappointment, I don't want to know its meaning anymore. Let me forget what it feels like to be cut down by the one thing you trusted to keep you up. Don't be like me. I would love to keep you in bed all day, soaked in dreams and perspired knees. But I can't promise to ever know where to put you afterwards. You can be the hallelujah in my mattress, but outside of it I can barely fit into my own skin. I want you to feel like the king of every sense and blood vessel. Every nerve. I would make love to you until the pillows didn't shade the sun, until clocks learned to work. Baby, with time you will see how well I can break. But the scariest part is realizing how well I could break you. A task that will go forever undone. Just keep me in your blankets, away from your past.

"I love you, always. Time is nothing"

I almost find it sad, the way writers instinctually feel as though everyone likes being written about. I mean, that isn't my purpose of posting, just a mere case and point thing. You can't assume someone wants you to rip open your feelings about them on page, but you do it, because it's all you know how to do really. All I really know how to do is write, and not even significantly, or at least consistently well. 

Some days its hard to breath without it, others it's impossible to imagine ever having it at all. They all knew somehow, even when I didn't. They knew where my head was, my heart, I guess. I wonder if it's all that obvious anymore. I like to pretend that monumental perfection wouldn't exist anywhere beyond where it is now. What could have been always seems a lot better than what is. 

I wish I'd let myself be cut open again. I wish someone would try as hard. I wish I found happiness in the utterance of my name, comfort in the way someone could stay all night. I wish the granted I'd taken could come back to feed me, but once you bite that hand it isn't likely to return in your favor. I forget how to sleep now.

when you smile

I have found the core of ignorance, the best manageable way of pretending something never happened. There is a place you get in your life where it just isn't about you anymore, where shit actually matters and what you say and do is attached to strings. He will pull on them as hard as he can until you forget what'll happen to the other side if you bend at all his way. I cannot cut these strings. They are held with such unexpected graces that risking them with no option is painful itself. 

Why now? Why when there is so much to lose no matter where I turn. I don't want to hurt you anymore. Least of all do I want my happiness to be the cause. I wake up, terrified of my own skin, scared of how well my wall will choose to crack today. I'm weak in the strongest of ways. I need that trust again, the solemn instance where my life is set so concretely that being myself is all left to do. 

I bend backwards for all of you. I bend to fit wherever your smile is, because I don't know how to hurt anyone that may save me someday. No one ever broke it down like him, at least not where I was aware enough for it to scare me. I never knew what fragile meant. "You must risk being completely cut open", and the risk alone has led to my fear of such things. He admitted that he could, that he might, that he likely. 

Everyone needs everything in the way that it doesn't need them. It's science almost. The hope of want is unbearable. The want in skin and lips and nerves. Goddamn I'm nervous, so much lately. How do I react with your hands pressed into your eyes and your words hanging desperately in my silence. How do I know what to say to the one thing I'd never expected to hear, the one thing you knew could make me think. "I say that I don't think you're happy, because I hope you're not happy". That was the only warning, from then on you knew the questions would pour, you knew I'd have to hear it. 

My head is gone away from you, it forgot and it lost whatever it had. You're so good at making me believe you, the mind trick of how I feel about you. It isn't there, there is something else for me and it's great. It's really fucking great. Please don't take that away, please. 

like it's supposed to

So I'm here, I'm here and it's crazy and ridiculous and my mind has got ahold of me. There is no downhill or uphill, there is this stagnant place I'm begging to keep. Every day is really cold, every day I'm wanting so badly of a future where I can be warmed by my own love. A confidence in someone else. There is no pretender to my happiness, no lie that can be told for it. I'm happy, I guess. Or at least I have this burning potential to be, but my cynical existence of the past while still has a grasping hold on my wall to stay up. He's breaking it down, piece by piece, and I'm not sure I'm okay with where they may take me. This is not safe. I am not safe missing him.

disaster area

Right now, I wish this could be my diary, my story. But this past week I have throttled into the paranoia of jinx. By that, I mean if I am to explain to people, or merely type the upside of anything going on that it will take on my usual luck and turn to a piece of unicorn shit. So I'm stuck, you know? In telling you everything or nothing at all. I am the happiest and most terrified I've been in a very long time, so let me pace myself. But on the awful side of things, school starts again Monday. Also, I came to concrete realization about myself. It's sad, really. I'd rather be afraid of a man than afraid of losing him.

Just Visiting

"You ever meet someone and just feel like, less alone in the universe?"

"Yes"

"I feel like I've been wasting my time on every other girl". That was it. There were so many different levels of serenity that had me, but that one I'll remember. It's the point in time when you realize what actually fucking matters. Where you separate the bullshit from the unbreakable smile currently residing on your face. It just happens, or it doesn't. This is the moment where I don't see how it can't.