Softest Touch
Butterflies
In my stomach
Every time my eyes fall into hers
The knowing smirk flirting with her lips
Every time
I, not so discreetly, shift my gaze
Quickly
To the white tile below my feet or the generic painting on the wall
Butterflies
In my stomach
Every time she sneaks behind me
To ask a question or point out a report
Feeling her body heat
Her stretched out arm
Pointing to numbers on my screen
That I suddenly lost the ability to see
Butterflies
In my stomach
When she peeks into my soul
Over her happy hour lemon drop Martinis
And my strawberry daiquiris
Butterflies
In my stomach
Every time she kisses my lips
And slides the curtain of black hair behind my ear
Every time she holds my hand
And slides her fingers along my waist
Butterflies
In my stomach
Every time her Coco Chanel mixes with my J'adore Dior
Every time she hold me close
And whispers I love you in my ear
Disappointment
Sweat forms on my forehead the more I read
How could this happen?
No. There must be some logical explanation
Top and bottom must mean something different
Dear Lord why is she talking about sex
with another girl
She'll explain when she wakes up
She must
It must be a joke
Banter between buddies
That girl spent the night under my roof
in my daughter's bed
What a disgrace
Finally. She's up!
My baby will tell me that this is all
a misunderstanding
We raised you better than this
Your dad is going to have a heart attack when he hears of this
How could you do this
to us?
No one
can
know
of this
Disappointment
Sweat forms on my forehead the more I read
How could this happen?
No. There must be some logical explanation
Top and bottom must mean something different
Dear Lord why is she talking about sex
with another girl
She'll explain when she wakes up
She must
It must be a joke
Banter between buddies
That girl spent the night under my roof
in my daughter's bed
What a disgrace
Finally. She's up!
My baby will tell me that this is all
a misunderstanding
We raised you better than this
Your dad is going to have a heart attack when he hears of this
How could you do this
to us?
No one
can
know
of this
My Thoughts and You
Dear Skylar,
I am writing this letter but I don’t know why. All I know that my rib bones are collapsing under the weight on my chest, and there is plenty I want to say, but regardless of whether I’m in an empty room or among a party crowd, the moment i open my mouth, I lose my ability to breath, my throat clamps up and my words disappear.
Dear Skylar,
Sometimes, I sit on the carpeted floor in my bedroom, fiddling with a cigarette I know I am bound to smoke in the next five minutes, and I try my hardest to cry, maybe then I will be a little less sad when I wake up breathing. But, alas, my tears defy me and hold back, contributing to the growing knot in my stomach. A knot that tightens every time I leave my bed, or walk, or make eye-contact with any person, or breathe.
Dear Skylar,
I often stand outside my political science class and on my balcony, smoking my seventh cigarette of the hour, while images of you streamline through my memory. With every drag I take, I imagine a different scenario in which I see you and hug you and touch you and cry as you hold me tight, comforting me. Sometimes, I pull out my phone and go through our old texts and for an instant, I smile, as if I am reading that text for the first time, and I have no idea know how this story ends. I feel stupid and weak. I know I’m stupid and weak and that holding out hope in a futile situation is naive, but I cannot help it. With you, I found my way to vulnerability and somewhere along that way, I stopped throwing breadcrumbs to find the path back home, to who I was before you.
Dear Skylar,
What I find most pathetic is that I’m not even angry. I try to be angry, yet I always fail because I still love you, and loving you reminds me that anger is a masking emotion. It reminds me to dig deeper and find what insecurity and fear is anger masking. It reminds me to be genuine and true about how I feel with you and about you. So, I sit. Hurt. Knowing that there is no more you and no more mask. I sit. Trying to release my tears. I sit. Hurt. Acknowledging that it’s not your fault. I sit. Hurt. Thinking about you, and how you feel, and are you okay? And can I do anything to help? And you know you can rely on me, right? And I'm here for you, baby. I sit. Hurt. Regretting that I etched you in the folds of my heart, and regretting that last thought.
Dear Skylar,
I remember days when you would not respond to my texts and shut me out. I remember my fear creeping in, my demons whispering she doesn't love you anymore; she is thinking about breaking up with you; she's definitely breaking up with you. Then, you would talk, tell me about your day and sometimes, why you didn't respond. You would say you love me, and I hung onto every word, and my demons quieted. I assured myself of your love. I repeated your words to myself erasing my self-doubt. My self-doubt, the defense mechanism I held onto so dearly for so long, the defense mechanism that shielded me from disappointment, because I will not be disappointed with you, I told myself. You care too much. I know what this sounds like. I know you read this and think that I am guilt-tripping you and blaming you, but I’m not; I don’t want you to feel guilty. I don't want you to feel blamed. I understand that you need to take care of yourself and being with me was problematic and stood in the way of a better you. But, that doesn't mean I wasn't disappointed. That doesn't mean that I was open and bare and painfully naked with you, and I was destroyed when you needed to leave. It's not your fault; it's no one's fault, but I was the one comforting you after you broke up with me, and I was never comforted. I was the one telling you it's not your fault and that you shouldn't feel responsible for this break up, and I never said how hurt and broken and damaged your words made me, because I didn't want you to feel hurt and broken and damaged.
Dear Skylar,
Sometimes, I think; what if I never met you? What if I never fell for you? What if I got too busy and never made it to our hangout the first time we kissed? What if you were just a passing infatuation from a summer evening we spent drinking cappuccinos. No sugar. I wish I could say, that I would love to have never known you, but I don't. You may have been the worst thing that ever happened to my mental and emotional state, but you are also the best. I may sit here today, staring numbly into the distance and writing you this stupid letter, because I cannot get you out of my mind, as the Word document that is supposed to letter the twenty page paper due tomorrow sits blankly in the background, waiting for me to stop being a little bitch. But, I also, for many nights, lied in my bed fondly remembering a word, a touch, a look, and smiling to myself like an idiot in love. Not knowing you means expunging these moments. I may smoke a pack a day now, hoping to develop stage four lung cancer and die. But once, I quit smoking because you said you will sleep on the floor until I quit. I may spend eighty per cent of my time coping with your loss by sleeping. But there was a time when I could not wait to wake up to text you “good morning baby.” I am trying to say is I love you, and even though you’re not in my life anymore, I don’t regret opening my heart to you; I don’t regret being vulnerable with you; I don’t regret giving our relationship everything. I do not regret a single moment, because you are the kindest, sweetest, most caring and compassionate person I have ever met, and there would be something seriously wrong with me if I did not fall in love with you.
Dear Skylar,
I am broken. More broken than I ever was. I text a lot of strangers with no intention of ever meeting them. I even got a fucking tinder account. Because I feel utterly and completely alone. And tinder gives me instant gratification. It makes me feel wanted. It offers a distraction and a false sense of moving on. If I am talking to new people, then I am definitely moving on, right? It means I do not think about you every goddamn living moment of my life… right? Shit, I am even thinking of having sex with a complete stranger; maybe I'll contract HIV and die of the flu.
Dear Skylar,
I am tired, but I do not blame you. I did not write this to blame you. I wrote this because more than anything, I want to cry in your arms and that is not an option anymore, so I don't know what to with myself.
Dear Skylar,
I keep addressing you, but you will never ever see this letter. I would never ever send it to you. I could never. Because I know what your reaction will be, and I know that you will cry, and I know that you'll feel guilty. And I can't cause you any pain or hurt you in any way. So, this file will sit tightly in my laptop’s library, gathering dust, until I, angrily, delete it two years from now, along with all your pictures and texts. Then, cry once I realise what I have done.
Someone once said to me I'm memorizing you and the way you are because I don't want to let you go down the line. I will never let you go Sky.
I love you.
Best,
Me