I want my face resting restless against your clavicle
I want to feel your breath leave slow and shallow at the edges of sleep
I want your hand resting restless on my hip and our fingers curled around each other
I want sleep to come upon me, intoxicating
I want sleep to smother me in you
I want sleep to wrap us both, calm
I want your frame to swallow my restless restlessness and wake with you by my side
I wonder if you will ever read this?
I wonder if you will ever read this?
You don’t know who you are,
But I do. And you don’t know
Who I am either. Well,
You know what I’ve told you. You know
What you’ve pieced together from my stories
Like a jigsaw puzzle. But if I really told you,
If I ever got up the courage. You would like me
You don’t know what I’m thinking right now. As much
As that would make it easier. As much as I want you to.
You know my name. That’s true,
But really, what else could I say.
If you knew, would you have wanted me to tell you?
I’m not sure.
You don’t know about the you that I do. The
You that holds my hand and walks on the beach with me and
Makes really good cookies. And if you did,
Well I’m not sure what I’d want you to think.
You see, when I write to you, about you, around you,
I really do want you to read it. But I’m afraid that you wouldn’t know it’s you.
I’m even more afraid that you would.
If you ever did read this, you would probably want to know
That it’s about you. You’d probably want me to write out your name.
An action so simple that all it would take would be a few keys. And
Maybe, I should. But
Well I like you.
And I’m never going to tell you that.
The Crying Dark
The moment your dark curls bounded away to reveal a steely resolve, I was bought. When your eyes cascaded around me like so many chains, I was sold. You are always there, frozen in memory. You will always be my sweet nostalgia. I will always love you, even when I cannot find you.
Even though you're not coming back.
we tip toe around truths like sleeping monsters. we are unarmed. our words aren't strong enough to act as shields. but we feel like soldiers anyway.
we've become good liars. telling each other our feelings are shallow. that we are only ankle deep in a tide pool.
but this distance is a vast ocean. the deepest black and empty. and loneliness is a careless companion.
my body searches for you endlessly. throwing signals out like echolocation. heartbeats bounce across states like voices through telephone wires.
and never reach you.
how do we navigate, now?
I never learned to swim. my lungs are half filled with water and useless. I would tear them from my chest. offer them to you on flat palms.
a heart cannot beat without oxygen. you make it easier to breathe. and I haven't tasted air in months. so,
use a flashlight, a.
and find me.
By keeping me in the (I hate this term)Friendzone, you have taught me what love means. I cannot imagine what would have happened if you would have given in and taken me out on a date if your heart was not in it. I can no longer feel anger towards you or towards myself regarding all of this. I have said before that anger was a mostly useless emotion, and now I will tell you why: it’s blinding. It has closed my eyes before and I will not let it close them again.
Here’s the truth: I am not yet ready to move on. I don’t think I’ll be able to until our friendship fades, which is hard to swallow, but I just can’t see you as more than a friend. I hear your voice and my heart leaps- it leaps, ______- and I cannot force it back down. When I first told you I had feelings for you, two Springs ago, I assumed that if you didn’t like me back I would just stop having those feelings. It’s laughable now, but I have always been such an insufferable idealist, though it’s not just about hope.
Allow me one last extended metaphor:
When my feelings began to take root, I assumed that they were only pesky weeds that could be easily removed. So I ignored them, until I looked over and they had grown into a sapling; I couldn’t pull it out with my hands. So I brought out a shovel to remove the pesky thing, only to discover that it was beautiful. I left it, hoping it would get easier to destroy it as time went by, but soon I began to enjoy its shade. I discarded the shovel and the axe and all of my fears and climbed to the top of its branches, and ______, the view was magnificent. It made me see everything in a new way. My garden was larger than I thought, and all the love I have ever felt blossomed continuously around my tree. Surrounded by all of this life, I felt less alone; depression visited less often, stayed for shorter periods of time.
But my tree is still fragile and cannot survive on its own. I have tended to it, almost out of habit, for the past two years; I have known no other way. Eventually, though, I will begin to wander away from this beautiful tree. It will die silently and without complaint as I plant new gardens.
When I happen upon it again, I will discover that it has lost its leaves, and immediately I will know what that means. I will mourn it, trying to remember what it once looked like in full bloom, but I will not stay near it; the memories of it will hurt me too much. And as I am sleeping in the branches of a new tree, I will hear a soft thud in the far distance. It will echo in every chamber of my heart; the last bit of love I had for you will leave my body.
But it’s no use crying now, or imagining that endings are permanent or set in stone. I’m not there yet- the tree of my love is still full of beautiful green leaves. Just as I’ve said after all of my letters to you:
The story continues on.
With blossoming love,
To My Summer Fling
When you grabbed my arm and spun me around, cupping my face with your broad hands, I found out what passion was really like. Fire coursed through my body, and I realized that with him, I felt cold.
When you begged me to come back to you after I drove away, I knew what it felt like to yearn for someone again. I raced like the devil was on my heels just to feel your body on mine.
When you took me into that meadow after we snuck out and made me feel that burning again, I knew that I needed more than he could ever give. Thank you for caressing my body in a way that made every hair on the back of my head stand at attention.
When you made an excuse to come see me alone while I was napping, I understood how powerful desire could be with the right person. We were drunk on lust and short on time, and it was the most thrilling experience I had had for years.
When you broke my heart by pulling away and losing interest, I knew that I could never go back home to a loveless and faithless relationship. It hurt more than you would ever know, but I came to appreciate it.
Thank you for awakening in me something that I didn't realize I was missing. Because of you, I was reunited with the one my heart truly wanted. You led me into the arms of a man who wants me like you wanted me, but who loves me like you couldn't. I am forever grateful.
The girl you didn't want enough to live in a yellow beach house with
P.S. Thanks for telling me about the beach with the wild horses. I think that he and I will go there someday.
I sat directly behind the Maker
who was seated at the entrance
of a hole that we had
both found in the wall.
At our right there was a presence
of a person bathed in shadows
who was watching us
as we performed...
...The Maker was a greying man
with a white beard, and bald
head, but he was playful...
...He was recording the World
through this hole,
and I was recording Him
recording the World
through this hole.
Earlier when I had found this
hole in the wall
with his help (though he was
not seen) a child immediately
plunged himself through,
and I had heard a cry
from somewhere, like a person
had dropped a plate, and
it had shattered
into a thousand pieces...
...the child threw her arms at
me, flailing as she did,
and I helped her through
the hole, so she may join me
in this strange room
that I had had to espy
with the help of the maker
in order to detect the hole.
Outside our hole there was
a great feast, and people
were laughing, and carrying on,
and I knew my Love was amongst
them, and I knew I would
see her soon, but for now I
must remain inside
the strange room with the child.
From these thoughts I had
returned to my place
without the child, and behind
the Maker, and with his tools,
and with my tools we continued
to record the World,
and I asked him questions
about what we were doing,
and through his actions
I acquired a great knowledge...
...at one point, in order to be funny,
the Maker dropped his pants
“Look we are screwing each other,”
And we both laughed,
because it looked that way
from how I was positioned behind
and the shadowy stranger laughed
...it was all in good fun,
and then we returned to recording
It soon became the night,
I could hear the birds flapping
against the house,
it was the sound of the veil
of night being plunged down
and we were still recording all
that was heard, though it was night
and I missed my Heart and Love who
lived outside the room so much,
and so I willed my body to sleep,
and I willed my spirit to leave the
body as it continued to soak in
lessons, and I went to her, and
laid with her, and we made a
multitude of spirit children
who floated without feet
above us as we slept...
...I then laid my lips down
upon her, and she opened her lips
to mine, and in an instant
I was back in the room,
but this time she was in
and the Maker was her,
and the Maker was I,
and we wept because we had
both found our way inside the
and then I saw a bundled
child in her arms,
and I knew all was good.
the art of giving is
in the silent
that extra special
to the ever generous,
"now," like a kiss—
sound that seals
and makes acceptable
the entire gift,
in whole and in piece
addressed to the Who
that apprehends in thanks—
all there really is, to "no,"
with double jointed arms
that open, instead of fold...
like a partner, variable and
formulated as shown—
the too ambiguous other
in whose shoes to be candid
any figure can aptly stand
but then again...
there is only
and your mirror...
to receive in silence
"o!" the thing
secret tied in black
s l e e p l e s s
it’s been two years.
i kissed a guy the day after you broke up with me,
a vain attempt to hide the pain.
i told him something was bothering my eyes,
but the tears were for you.
i thought it would get better with time,
so i slept with random guys,
and i kissed with even more.
i became an expert at creating an alibi for tears.
as much as i tried to,
the alcohol only numbed my mind,
not my heart.
as much as i longed to,
love was always mocking me
with your eyes.
they told me they loved me,
and as i said it back
i imagined that you were here
instead of strangers.
it’s been two years.
but every time something funny or sad or happy happens,
the first thing on my mind is to tell you.
and then i realize.
you aren’t here
i love you,
but just like with all my lovers,
i am beginning to realize our love
was one sided.
Have you ever wished on a dandelion and, while watching the white seedlings scatter, hoped that at the end of your breath there will be none left attached? I have. Because, of course, my wish will only come true if I blow the seeds out all in one breath. Then, if I see there are one or two which didn’t let go, I wonder in fear. Will my wish still come true? Surely the universe or whatever power which dictates wishes on dandelions won’t discriminate because I failed to blow out every seed.
Then I think So what if it doesn’t come true? Will I be okay without it? Or will I be crushed if my wish is denied? But perhaps it’s something I actually don’t need, and I can let go.
This is my analogy for how I feel when I think about you. Because, after all the effort I put into wishing for you, surely you won’t be kept from me based on some universal technicality or any minute failure on my part. Yet, I have no assurance that after all this time you will actually start to love me. So, like when I contemplate those two seeds jeopardizing my wish’s possibility of coming true, I wonder in fear…
Then I start to think So what if you don’t realize I’m the only girl in the world? Will I be okay? How heart-broken will I be if you simply move on? Is it possible that your love isn’t what I need and that I ought to let go?
Have you ever wished you had a direct line to the power which dictates the granting of wishes? I have. I wish I could ask for a clear description of what exactly I can expect from wishing, and what it is I get myself into when I hazard the thing called hope.
My dear, what shall become of my hope?