June 10, 2013

Most times I come over, you set the tone with a, “You look pretty,” in that bashfully cutesy voice. Sometimes you joke around about my insecurities, thinking it’s okay because you don’t believe any of them, but I still get upset. But when it really matters, you make me feel beautiful. When I went into the bathroom at that concert and I was washing my hands, there were two very pretty blonde-haired, scantily-clad girls on either side of me, fixing their perfect makeup and tousling their lovely waves. I looked up at my mirror and saw my frizzy, dull-looking curls where one side got so messed up somehow it looked like a ball of fuzz on top of my head. My gray sweatshirt washed out my already pale face and made the bags under my eyes pop. I watered down my mess of hair and walked outside where you were staring at the door, searching and waiting for me and you held my hand and you kissed my lips and the top of my curly, curly head and you kept me close while you walked me back to my seat and you paraded me around like I was the prettiest girl there and even though I hadn’t felt it looking in that bathroom mirror, I felt so beautiful when you held my hand. 

You paid no mind to the gorgeous drunk girl sitting in front of us, flirting with you, even trying to dance with you, and joked that I should ask her to come home with us. I told you I didn’t have a chance with the way I looked that night and you didn’t seem to understand and you told me, “I think you look beautiful tonight.” You smiled that thoughtful smile of yours that makes your eyes dance with joy. You kissed me right on my lips and told me you loved me with your words and your dancing eyes and your happy, thoughtful smile. You hugged me, you danced with me, you kissed my cheeks, my lips, and my forehead. You held onto me all night while those pretty drunk girls looked on in envy. I knew how I looked but I felt so beautiful when you smiled at me. 

Other times you make me feel beautiful:

In the morning when my hair is wild from having been slept on and my blush has faded away and I look oh so very, very sleepy but you still take a few moments to stare at me face-to-face with that thoughtful smile of yours, when you get jealous over guys or girls flirting with me or liking my pictures, in the shower before I’ve washed off my mascara and it’s running down my cheeks, when you call me a “sexy little thing” even though we’re just sitting there watching TV, when you accuse your own friends of hitting on me, when you pull me aside to heavy make out with me for just a second, when we’re hanging out with all your friends so you text me, “You look pretty” or snapchat me a picture of myself with a caption saying something like, “Gorgeous” and wait for me to look over and shoot me a big smile, when I hear you saying nice things about me to people behind my back, and just the way you look at me when we’re together makes me feel so, so beautiful.

May 22, 2013

Sometimes I look at you and I think I’d like to plant a tree with you. I’ve never wanted to make that sort of commitment with a person. We would watch it grow and watch its leaves change, fall off, grow back again while the seasons change and our love stays the same. We would watch raindrops spilling off the leaves and listen to them rustle on windy days and pray no thunderstorm will harm its branches. It would belong to both of us for the rest of forever, even if we no longer belong to one another. But the really nice part is that it wouldn’t only belong to us, it would belong to the earth in the same way we do and in the same way every person who walks by our tree would and that would be beautiful. And we could love our tree the way we love one another and share that tree with the whole wide world and it would almost be like we were sharing our whole love with them too. Maybe someone would walk by our tree hundreds of years after we've gone and think to themselves, “How wonderful.” And it would be funny because that’s the same thing I’d thought to myself about you. 

As much as I hate to think it, I know we might not be eternally intertwined the way the tree’s roots would be with the soil. But I would take solace in picturing you passing by our tree with any hint of subsisting feeling for me manifesting itself in your expression. I would hope it would be one of nostalgia, a quick gleam in your eye, a wistful smirk before you cast your eyes downward with a gentle sort of acceptance. I would hope you would remember it fondly and maybe occasionally you would take the long way home just to remember it again. I would.

May 18, 2013

Call me cliche but I’d love to have a Polaroid camera again. I like that you can write the date and captions right onto them and remember as soon as you pick it up. Mostly I like it because you get a sort of authenticity you can’t get with digital cameras or camera phones. Once a picture is online or stored on a hard drive it becomes transmissible. Anyone can see it at any time in any given context, but when it’s one single picture with one single copy, that memory can belong to you forever and the value of it is untouched and purely your own. You know?

May 3, 2013

What distance has done to me is make it so that in the time I get to spend with you, I can’t get rid of all my missing you, I can’t stop feeling your absence, I can’t seem to get close enough to you to prove to myself that you’re near, that I don’t have to miss you now. I keep missing you when you sit right next to me and that’s why I press my lips so hard against yours, just to make sure you’re still there. That’s why I climb on top of you and get rid of any space that separates our bodies, even though we just had sex. It’s not a sex thing, it’s an insatiable longing  to be near you that never ever goes away and sometimes it eats at me until I force myself on you, grab your thigh suddenly, feel out every detail of your face with my fingertips even though I know you hate that. In all those moments you catch me staring a little too intensely at you (not exactly “catching” it, because it’s too obvious to miss) I’m memorizing the shape, size, and placement of every single freckle on your face, the little creases in your lip, the pattern the hair on the back of your neck grows in. I’m keeping time to the beating of your lashes, making note of what you look like when you sniffle, committing to memory how you execute every movement so that in your absence, when I no longer have that indulgence, I can take solace in your not so distant memory. Not any specific memory, because those can lose their vitality with too much use. The ones I covet are the ones that never die, the ones that hold your very lifeblood. Sometimes those sorts of memories are only felt within the feeling of closeness. So I get closer, closer, closer. 

March 18, 2013

I want to share everything with you, from my collection of unfinished water bottles to the piles of ash that collect on the side tables and makeshift ash trays. From dental floss to dirty dishes, old leftovers in the fridge to toilet paper rolls. Kisses before work, your morning coffee, trivial details about our days - I want to share everything with you. I wish all my things were in the cabinets, on the shelves, in the dresser, on the counter instead of in an overnight bag. I wish there were pictures of the two of us in nice frames all over the house. I wish you’d ask me to turn up the volume on the TV or the radio and I’d make sure it was on an even number, just for you. I wish I could bother you on your day off and ask you to dig my car out of the snow and I wish you’d bang on the bathroom door when I’m singing in the shower because I’m using up all the hot water. I wish you’d cook us dinner and I’d wash the dishes in return, and the next day we’d argue over who has to take out the trash. I wish you were there when I was putting on makeup in the morning, telling me how much you wish I wouldn’t. I wish you’d ask me to shave your neck every few weeks, making me tremble a little every time, warning me not to mess up. I wish I could bring home all those things you never have and don’t think you really need like band-aids, cold medicine, tissues, and lotion. I want to sit around while you’re challenging your friends to some video game and I want to go downstairs to do laundry together so we don’t get scared. I want to know all your stories first-hand, laugh and finish your sentences when you tell them at parties. I want to share in every hardship, every triumph, every laugh, and every (almost) tear. I want you to be the one I come home to.

January 9, 2013

You and I see love a little differently, but it’s not a bad thing. When I say I love you beyond reason, it’s the way I feel and there’s no “why” or “how” about it, but there’s no way around it. I know that I love you in the same way that I know one foot goes in front of the other when I walk and in the same way my heart will beat faster when I’m nervous and in the same way I know to dot my “i“‘s and cross my “t“‘s. I love you without conscious thought, I love you because I am me and because you are you. That’s why I get so confused when you ask me why it is that I love you, and I hardly ever give a straight answer. But if there’s one thing I know about you and me, it’s that when our thoughts and opinions clash, we compromise. So I’m going to tell you “why” I love you.

I love you because of how passionate you are. I love your intensity. No matter whether it’s in your work, your relationships, your ideas or opinions, good or bad, you have a sort of undying fervency in you. Even on the days that you don’t want to get out from under the covers in the morning and I have to dress you while you lie in bed. Even on those days, you do everything with a sort of passion. The same sort of passion I, myself, lack. The sort I somehow lost, but you build it back up a little more every day. I love you because of that.

I love you because of your range of interests. You’ve built up an arsenal of knowledge and I don’t think you even realize how you crave learning. All the documentaries, bullshit Discovery channel shows, even those conspiracy theories, I love it all. The cooking, the cars, the music, the movies; everything that interests you makes me fall in love with you more and more. I love you because of that.

I love you because you’re gentle with me. You’re probably going to laugh at that because we both know the extent to which you wrestle me, twist my arm, and throw me around. And we both know how much you love to pick on me and say absolutely anything to get under my skin. But I also know that you always know if you’ve gone too far and you make an effort not to. You do whatever you can to make it up to me, make me laugh, get me smiling again. You stand up for me when you need to and make sure no one says that word I don’t like. And even though you have different views than me on certain things, you always, always look out for me when I’m hurt or in danger. You don’t believe in depression but you were the most positive influence and biggest support when you noticed I cut myself. You put my well-being before your pride and I couldn’t thank you enough. I love you because of that.

I love you because you’re not always stuck in the present. You look forward to the future the way I do. I love that we can talk about how we see our future and that we both see it being together. When you start moving up at work, you’re always anticipating the next move. You’re never just stuck where you are, you’re always looking for more in the best possible way. It’s never boring because we’re always dreaming. I love you because of that. 

I love you because you’re my best friend. That means you’re the person I want to tell about my day, spend all my time with, exchange stories and secrets with. The person I go to for support, advice, a good laugh, but I’ve told you all of that. The thing is, the only thing I love more than being alone is being with you as often as possible. I feel so fortunate to have someone whose touch I crave, whose warmth, lips, and fingertips I hunger for, regardless of the last time I saw you. I’m fortunate because I never tire of your arms around me, my head on your chest, or your heartbeat thumping in my ear. Tightening the grip of my arm around your waist, my legs intertwined with yours, or tracing the goosebumps down your side. The really amazing thing is that you actually don’t tire of me either (or so you say). I love you because of that. 

I love you because you can embrace my quirks that drive you crazy. You know if I say I’ll be over in a little while I really mean at least an hour and a half. You know how bad I am at painting my nails and that even if I tell you I don’t want breakfast I’m probably going to Dunkin as soon as I leave your house anyway. You know how I sleep the day away and can never sleep at night because I took my pills when I didn’t need to. You know how I love my old movies and hate country music and you can poke fun at me but you accept every little one of my flaws. As I do yours. I love you because of that.

I love you because of your big personality. The way you light up a room, steal everyone’s attention with your presence and your voice and your laughter. The way you can talk to anyone about anything and will go on and on sometimes and make me feel like I can hear the stream of thought going through your head. I love the way you can share all that conscious thought and be yourself, as corny as that sounds. Because you’re proud of the person you have become and are teaching me to be the same way. Because I’ve never felt like I know someone inside and out like I do with you, and I owe that to you. I love you because of that.

I can go on forever and ever, and I plan to. But right now you’re waiting for me to be ready and come over (as usual) so I’ll leave it at this and pick it up again another day. I love you even more than I love my reasons for loving you, but I know you love to hear them so I’ll write you a novel any time you ask.

October 31, 2012

It could’ve been that very first moment at the train station when I saw your face in a crowd and you made your way over to me and when you grabbed my face and kissed me right there, picked me up, and it was so surreal I barely experienced it. It could’ve been on the ride back to your place when the sky turned purple instead of pink and your song for me came on the radio and I couldn’t stop staring, waiting for that smile I love to quietly creep up on you when you noticed what I was doing. It could’ve been when we laid in your bed for an hour after that just staring, smiling, occasionally laughing and kissing. It might have been watching The Town, laying in bed with my head on your chest, legs tangled with yours, smoking the vape and feeling your chest inflate with the inhale and then mine doing the same when you exhaled with a kiss. Maybe it was when I woke up to the rain of the storm, your kisses on my back, and “beautiful girl” being whispered in my ear. Or even when I turned to face you and the sun shone through the blinds for the first and only time that day; it wasn’t just bright, it shone golden yellow and it hit you from behind. You looked heaven sent and I was sure you were. It could’ve been after the thousandth time I’d said I hated you and the thousand and first time you told me I would. It could’ve been when I felt your kiss again for the first time in a long time, or it could’ve been after I’d been feeling it all weekend. It might have been when I found every spot on your back that makes you shiver if I scratch it, when I felt every goosebump on your skin under my fingertips and smiled. It could’ve been each morning that I woke up to you thinking how much I’d like all of my mornings to be just like it. Maybe it was when I became the big spoon and you got that bashful smile whenever I kissed your cheeks and I pulled you in close the way you always do or when you tried to scratch my back the way I do. It could’ve been when you slapped me in the face with your pants when I tried to help you with your laundry or when I threw up outside Anne’s Market that first night and you never brought it up again. It could’ve been laughing at what a sore loser you were at wine wasted Monopoly or when you cleaned it all up the next morning. Even more likely could be when I laughed uncontrollably at your face when you lost your grip on the table you were moving, “strongest friend you know.” It could’ve been the night before when I was almost asleep and I heard you say “I think I might love you,” just like you had said so many times before. Then when I turned and looked you dead in the eyes for what seemed like an eternity, wondering if my pupils were dilating when I realized yours weren’t. When I finally spoke up and said, plainly but honestly, “I don’t think you do, but I do love you,” and I turned lazily back around. But I think it really could have been immediately after that when you put your arms around me and squeezed me so tightly, because I felt your relief in that hug. When I felt that force, although I knew I was right in my statement, I also knew it meant something to you. Truthfully, I’m not really sure when exactly it happened, but I decided on you all over again. It doesn’t matter when it happened; I love everything with you, everything about you, and I decided on you. 

September 7, 2012

I love the red in your beard and the freckles on your face and I love the hair on your arms and your long, dark eyelashes. I love your breath on the back of my neck and the spot between your bottom lip and your chin where your beard’s a little darker. I love the hair on your chest that tickles my nose when I hold you some nights and your eyes that change from green to brown and never lose their intensity. I love your voice when it’s bellowing along with your friends’ and I love it when it’s whispering sweet nothings in my ear. I love the wrinkles around your eyes when you’re laughing and the ones on your forehead when you’re concentrating and I’d even love them when you get old and they become permanent. I love the muscles at the top of your back and your toe with only half a toenail and I love the small gap between your teeth and I even love the veins in your arms.  I love the way you walk when you wake up in the morning and your undeniably inviting lips and I love your hands when they’re covered in plaster or cornmeal and I love them even more when they’re on my hips. I love to watch your pupils grow and your lips part into a smile and the dimples form in the scruff on your cheeks. I love when you sneak a kiss even though your friends bust your balls when they see and how you train yourself not to say that word I don’t like and I love when you raise your eyebrows and cock your head and when you swing your arms around during a story and I love talking back when you talk in your sleep and feeling the strength in your arms when you pick me up. I love your tone when you rant and rave and I love it more when you’re talking about life or giving me reassurance. I love you blowing me a kiss before you leave for work in the morning and I love how vividly I can still imagine you doing it. I love you being able to tell me the exact thought in my head before I ever say a word even though I always deny it and I love waking up from a deep sleep to be greeted by your already bright-eyed and smiling face as if to say, “Welcome home”. I love every sigh, grunt, whisper, and hum. Every deep breath, every quiet murmur, every bat of your eye and brush of your hand. Every freckle, every hair, every bone in your body. Every rise of your chest, as well as the fall, every step up the stairs, every glance in my direction. Every laugh, every cough, every bite you took of a Reese’s. Every speech, every sentence, every word that’s ever left your lips. I love it all, I love everything, I love you. 

August 17, 2012

The first time you told me you loved me, you warned me. You were drunk as all Hell, throwing up on the front porch, and I was at the 24-hour CVS picking up band-aids for your bloody thumb when you called me. You told me that tonight you were going to tell me a lot of things. They were all good things and I’d like them a lot but I’d have to ignore it. When I got back to your house, we went up to your room and you got the spins and threw up out the window and then sat with your back against the bed, begging me not to hate you. “I never would,” I laughed. You said, “I know I told you to ignore me, but only ignore it half way because it’s all true.” You told me some things you loved about me and then, “I love - nevermind.” But I wanted to know and you admitted you were going to tell me you loved me, but I told you you didn’t. “You’re right it’s too soon.” And it was, but I was glad you said it. 

The second time you told me you loved me, I think we must’ve been high because I don’t remember why but we were laughing uncontrollably in your bed. I was watching you (you know how I love watching you do anything), and I admired the way your eyes crinkled and the creases your dimples made in your beard and the little gap in your toothy smile and thought how beautiful you looked, but I didn’t say anything. Still laughing and with such confidence you said, “I love you so much,” and I stopped laughing but still smiled just the same. You told me you were sorry and I told you not to be. You asked why, but I didn’t say anything. You said you were sorry, but you never took it back. 

The third time you told me you loved me was early on a Saturday. My hair was still wet from the shower that morning and your skin still smelled sweet. You had been telling me all morning, “I think it’s more than ‘like’,” and still, all I could do was smile. You sat on the edge of the bed while I gave you a massage and when I put my ear next to your cheek you whispered, “I might love you.” I might, I might, I might.

The first time I told you I loved you, I whispered it to myself while you were asleep. Just to see how it would sound out loud. I loved the way it sounded and I might have loved you too. 

The first time we told each other we loved one another was this morning. We got into our first fight last night, with me crying and yelling about the dark of my past, and I was drunk but I think I went to sleep feeling safe again, drowning out the sound of old demons with the familiar rhythm of your heartbeat. This morning, you pulled me in close and planted a trail of kisses up my spine, to my shoulder, to my neck. I turned, smiling sleepily, and with wide eyes and your pupils dilating, you said, “I love you.” Just like that. Almost in a matter-of-fact way, like we’d already known it for a thousand years. In that moment, hearing you say those words felt like unexpectedly hearing my name being called in a raffle with a million people. It felt like the best part of your favorite song you always wait to sing along to or adventitiously finding something you’d lost years ago. It felt like one of those perfect dreams where you wake up happy and even though you know it wasn’t real, you bask in the fantasy for a while. But this wasn’t a dream and it wasn’t a fantasy and the truth was on your tongue and the proof was in your eyes and I admitted it; I love you too. 

August 9, 2012

Being with you feels like starting over. I don’t like to admit that there are some things I never dealt with but I didn’t think I needed this as bad as I did. Now, when I say starting over, I mean I get to ignore anything and everything that’s happened to me in the past and relish in the blissful naivety I feel any time I take a thorough look at you. You’ve got gentle, honest eyes and a calm, genuine smile. I don’t know if you knew that. I’m able to comfortably fall into you and I do so eagerly and completely. No games, no hint of distrust, skepticism, or doubt. Nothing can touch me or you or us and we’re finally safe. This is something so entirely different and new to me because not only do you make my heart beat out of my chest and my mind go blank, but you put me at ease. I’m not scared to feel those things anymore and I welcome it with open arms. My mind is free of worry, my chest free of pain, and my heart free of hesitation. I don’t think I’ll be able to make you understand how I feel when I say everything feels right, but just know it’s the only time I’ve been able to say it in complete confidence. You changed everything I thought I knew, broke down walls I had no idea were there, and made me really, genuinely feel again. You make me flustered, but not nervous. You make me vulnerable, but secure. You make me irrational, but sane. You do something crazy to me but it makes sense. Don’t make me let you go.

July 25, 2012

Everything about you captures my attention. Maybe I’ll give you the list someday but right now laying in your bed, it’s how your eyes look when you wake up in the morning - kind and calm and illuminated - and how you notice me noticing you and follow it with that bashful smile that sets off the smile in me and it all feels right. And it’s how I count your breaths to help me fall asleep at night and if I need a little extra help I can snuggle up close to you and even if you stole all the blankets I’ll be warm from the inside out. It’s how from the second you blow me a kiss in the morning and shut the door and I grab my phone to wait for your text, all I’m thinking about is how soon I’ll get to kiss you again. It’s that something about you that I’m never fully able to describe because I know deep down it’s not something, it’s everything, and I just don’t want to admit it. I could go on, but I heard there are some rainy days coming up so I’ll save it for then.

July 16, 2012

I wish you could see how he looks when he wakes up in the morning. He’ll wake up before me and put his arm around my waist and pull me in really close and kiss my head and back of my neck. And I wake up with a smile and he’s smiling too. Smiles so big his eyes crinkle and I’ve never seen eyes so green or happy or peaceful and they always look me directly in my own eyes. He gives me about a million kisses and that’s how I wake up in the morning.

Everybody hates me.

June 23, 2012

How it’s started to feel is that people who want me don’t see me as a person. Like you’ve seen me and maybe heard about me and you come up with some idyllic fabrication of who I am so when I talk to you it doesn’t at all matter what I say or how I say it because you jump to thinking I’m just as you imagined me and I jump to thinking that I still have no clue who you are or what you stand for. Then if I do give you a chance, eventually that idea of me goes to shit and you have to deal with the fact that I’m a real life person and you have to talk to me and love me, even when I’m not how you imagined. Even if you like the reality you still resent me for crushing the fantasy.

I don’t know if that sounds conceited, but I also don’t think you know how it feels to feel like you have feelings for someone and then hear the person say something like “I can’t believe I got Olivia Taylor!” as if I’m some fucking prize or something. I’m just a fucking person and that’s it and that’s all I want to be .

June 23, 2012

I want to meet someone who has no idea who I am. Someone who has no expectations of who I am. No intentions of dating me. I want to be with someone who sits in my company and takes me in and decides on me on their own. Unaware that they’re doing it completely. I want them to acknowledge me as nothing more than another human being until one day they catch themselves noticing the way I play with my ear when I tell a story or purse my lips when I’m thinking and they fall in love with it. Not fall in love with any certain quality they think I have or anything they think a person should love another person for. Not love their reasons for loving me or anything like that. Just me in my entirety. Everything I am. I want them to fall for me so unexpectedly that they can’t even explain their reasons for loving me. I want to be stumbled upon, not sought after. Yeah, that’s it. I want someone to splash their face with water in the bathroom mirror and question themselves and wonder what comes next. I want to be unexpected. I want someone to be shocked at the way they feel about me because all I was to them was “Olivia”. No big flashing lights or applause. Raw. Just me. And that’s what they’ll fall in love with.

June 22, 2012

This is about no one but myself

I can understand a lot of things. I can understand if we weren’t the right match together. I can understand if there is someone out there who’s better for you than me. I can understand that there must be someone out there who’s better for me too. I can understand if it was the wrong time in your life or the wrong time in mine. I can understand. That’s why I don’t get upset. But right now I’m upset and I don’t understand. I can’t think of any way to put it other than “I don’t even care” or “fuck that” and I don’t like that. It wasn’t this girl, or that boy, or any one of you. It’s the string of rejection that trails behind me and only gets longer and harder to drag along. I never predict the way something will turn out, but now if I were to say “anyone who wants me is wasting their time,” I’d say the odds were in my favor. Or not in my favor, depending on how you look at it. It’s a variation of the same scenario. I’ve got it down to a science. We start off, they smile and tell me, “You’re perfect,” and I smile too. Time passes; a week, a month, a year. They grimace and tell me, “You’re perfect,” and I’m left on my own again. As much as someone thinks they want me, they don’t. So what am I supposed to do when someone thinks they want me and I already know they don’t?

I’m not hurt from being dumped, I’m not bitter from being cheated on. I’m not scared to be alone, I’m not sad about being unwanted. I’m scarred from the loss of my ability to understand or change. I physically can’t wrap my mind around what it means to be in a relationship. I can’t comprehend what a girlfriend should be. I don’t understand at all. How did I get so right and how do I learn to be wrong?

I don’t need a relationship. I don’t want a relationship. In fact, I fucking hate being in relationships. It’s not that, I swear. I’m not lonely, I’m not looking, I’m content. Just when I think about it, I get pissed. Why the fuck not me? What’s so wrong about me? Or rather, what’s so right?

Dad

“Daddy, will you teach me how to fly?” I remember a younger Olivia saying maybe eleven years ago.

“Tomorrow,” Daddy humored me, “Tomorrow I’ll teach you how to fly.”

The next day, Daddy didn’t teach me how to fly. Nor did I remember he was supposed to. The weeks, months, years after that, I’d remember and pester him about it. He’d laugh.

This was my first and possibly most important lesson in independence and perseverance, though I was too little to recognize it. Granted, at the time I wanted to literally fly and disturb the birds, but now I see it all a little differently. See, I don’t tend to identify with my father very closely. Daddy’s the kind of guy that could live through the biggest tragedies you can imagine and still keep the no-nonsense mentality that there was no excuse for him not to succeed and move forward. Daddy’s a doer; he has that rare combination of brilliance and artistic talent and doesn’t hesitate to use every last ounce of it. Daddy laughs at “the sky is the limit” and does what he dreams. The dreams don’t ever seem to stop growing, either. You might not even know it unless you knew him as well as I do, because he exemplifies what it means to be humble and is always laughing and joking with anyone he meets. Not enough of us have that way about ourselves. I certainly didn’t. That’s what makes him so admirable and inspiring. That’s what’d make a seven-year-old Olivia believe he could teach someone to fly. Daddy taught me that if I wanted to do something as pretentious as flying I’d have to work for it, no shortcuts, and I’d get there when I’d earned it. Although the clash between my lazy, dependent ways and his “hard work makes anything possible” lifestyle drives me crazy sometimes, I know I wouldn’t be as successful as I’ve been without the will to persevere he instilled in me. If nothing else, Daddy epitomizes what it means to dream big and work hard. I see how much he’s done, how much he’s experienced, and how much will he still has in him and am in awe. I have even more respect for him over the way he still gushes over my brothers’ and my littlest feats and make us feel as accomplished as he is. It’s what makes him one of those rare people whose approval or adulation really matters. It’s what makes me beam with pride to tell him about the A I got in math or the new song I learned on guitar. It’s what makes me so satisfied when I see him bobbing his head to my music (because if anyone knows music, it’s Daddy) and so hopeful when I present my own hard work. It’s what makes me eager to succeed in all aspects of life on my own, just as he had. I couldn’t have a goal bigger than living up to my Daddy, but I’m sure he could think of one. That’s who he is. That’s who I aim to be. Never stopping progress, always dreaming, and never letting my dreams be only dreams. I may not ever be airborne, but Daddy taught me how to fly. 

I love you, Daddy. More than words can express. (Even though you lied about flying.)

June 7, 2012

I think the best kind of silence is the kind where the loudest thing was your mind and suddenly you stop thinking. It’s 4:49 AM and I hear the birds chirp and the bubbles in the sink popping and I’m silent. It almost makes me angry at my mind for being so damn loud and drowning out the bubbles all the time. Maybe I should shut the hell up more often.

June 7, 2012

I like the idea of you. I like it a lot. Someone who I can identify with on every level and loves me as intimately as she can. Someone who does everything and is everything I am or could be or could do. Or want to be or do, for that matter. Mutual. Exact. One piece that theoretically fits my own piece perfectly. How could I want anything other than one who sincerely knows me and would have me? Who could live in my daydreams and in all realistic intentions? How could I not jump at the fierce beauty and intelligence of my fellow writer, reader, lover of words? My artist, my thinker, my equally as complex companion? The promise of adventure in a hike, of the comfort in a good book or movie on our nights in. Taking new chances and learning new things because I know you want to too. Teaching you guitar or taking your picture while you draw on the porch. Telling one another about our day and unwinding with a couple joints and a laugh. That’s what I imagine when I think of you.

I hate the idea of you. It scares the living hell out of me. You know as much as me, if not more, and it’s off-putting. I can never decide how to act around you. I like to pretend I don’t know anything, but you know I do because you know it all too. I pretend to myself too, and I hide it. Talking to you, it forces its way out. There’s no room for me to pretend with you. You match me on every level and it makes me shiver to think about it. It’s why I can talk about “knowing” and you don’t need to ask how. Why I can speak in prose and you don’t question it. I don’t think the labyrinth is safe, so neither is yours. Even now, you’re speaking and I swear you took the words from my head. You know you can’t figure me out, but figuring that out is further than anyone’s gotten on its own. I don’t like being this complex being, and that’s why I find it hard to talk to you. You’re the one that realizes it and can take it apart because of your own being. I don’t really want to know who I am, but I think a little harder every time I see you. You represent all that is the great and scary unknown. I have no place there.

It’s too hard to explain. The way I feel about you, I mean. That’s why I stay away from you. You confuse me more than most things can. Not you, really, but you in relation to me. If that makes sense. Probably not. But then again, I probably don’t want it to. I don’t want a concrete way to feel about things or to force myself into shoveling all these decided feelings out of my mind. They come out in heaps, disorganized to say the least, and it’s too unreasonable to sort them out. I want you to be as unsure as I am. There’s no such thing as closure.

May 29, 2012

How lovely it would be to live by the moonlight. Eternal serenity. Ethereal harmony. That time of night where you can turn down the lights, turn down the bed, surround yourself with only silhouettes of your proverbial space. The moon and the stars are just fast enough to dance and mingle with one another and invite you to look on for what seems like an eternity because it doesn’t ever tire your eyes. And maybe the wind is blowing and the trees are shaking, or the rain is falling and humming a lullaby. I always thought a hard downpour meant a deep sleep and faltering drizzle meant a light nap. 

Sometimes those things can make you really quite somber, but it’s only the beauty. The universe and your own intimate world kind of playing off each other. I think beauty makes a lot of people feel at least a little somber, though. I wonder why that is. Maybe it’s because there are certain kinds of beauty that exist only in our minds. The frustration that comes from the disconnect between thoughts and words and feelings. You can write about it or take a picture of it, but you can’t capture how it made you feel in that moment. How you were suddenly at peace; accepting your mind as a part of what’s out there instead of what you comfortably know and control right here. Or how you were lulled into a dream; slowly, gently, easily. Eagerly. Finally, some peace and quiet. For this moment. In your head. In your conscious. In your subconscious. Down your spine and back again.

If I look out and I watch them too long, I get a little lost. I find my place out there, but am forced out of the fantastical role just as quickly. Earthly possessions pale in comparison to the tranquility the moon offers. An offer, a suggestion, a plea. Of course I accept. Only for as long as I’m allowed. I can’t stay too long or I won’t have anything to look forward to. 

But how lovely it would be to live by the moonlight.

Mom

Mom, do you remember when I was a little girl? I told you I’d never ever hate you. Not even a little. Not even for a second. Not at all. I never will. I’d never even “pretend” to hate you; not even when I’m a teenager. You told me to just wait, because it’d happen. All teenagers “hate” their parents at least a little. Well, mom, here I am at 18 years old and I’ve never once “hated” you. Not even a little. Not even for a second. Not at all. I never will. 

Under this notes is a note I wrote for my mom on her birthday only seven months ago. In those few short months, everything I said about my mother was tested and matched with every ounce of power she has in her. She’s saved me time and time again, helping me through some of the toughest things a mother could imagine. Supporting me through breakups, breakdowns, coming out, deciding what to do next year, and being patient with me through the school year as we found out about all the complications of ADHD. I don’t know if she’s even realized how much has truly happened, but I know I wouldn’t have been able to do it without her. Pep talk after pep talk, we’ve gotten through my senior year together. She pushed me to take it all on headstrong. She never lost faith in me and made it her job to restore my faith in myself; she succeeded. I’ve never had more faith in myself as I do right now. She’s stuck up for me on issues she herself was confused on. She made sure I always had the best of whatever I needed. She made me believe I was amazing every day. I think after this year, my brothers and I have finally conquered all of our demons and figured ourselves out, with my mom guiding us all along the way. I’ve said it time and time again, but I can never seem to stress what an amazing mother she is. Just using that word seems to completely downplay just how we feel about her. “Amazing” doesn’t seem fit, but I guess I couldn’t think of a better word if I tried. I’d need pages and pages. A novel. An encyclopedia. Volumes upon volumes of books, just to describe how “amazing” she is. There is absolutely nothing more I could ask for. I only wish I had the words to tell you properly. You make me want to be a better person. Look how far I’ve come. You can take pride in knowing it was all because of you. It’s going to be hard going off to college without you next year, but I feel confident knowing you’ve given me the tools I need to get ahead in life. I’ll never take that for granted. I love you, mom. I’ll always be that little girl. I’ll never stop loving you. Not even a little. Not even for a second. Not at all. I never will. 

Hi, Mom.

Every birthday, every mother’s day, and frequently on average days, I find myself thinking about how important you are to me. More than a caretaker, you’re my heart, my inspiration, and my constant source of love, stability, and reassurance. Starting out as the quietest push-over, you grew to stand up in dedication to your family and denied anything but the best for us. You taught me strength. You taught me growth. You taught me that today is never too late to be brand new, and you gave me hope. You had unrelenting faith in me, when I had all but given up on myself. When we fail and think we’re over and done with, you’re the light of encouragement and understanding that we never thought would shine through. Everything I do, I do to prove to you that you’re pointing me in the right directions. The one thing I want, more than anything, is to give back to you the hope and pride that you instilled in me. You leave me room for mistakes without judgement, but keep me in line enough that these mistakes are rare occurrences. You allow me to be whoever I want to be, and are proud of my decisions regardless. Even when I went through that stage of black hair and got piercings that our whole family wasn’t so pleased with, you allowed me to express myself and didn’t see me any differently. I always enjoy spending time with you; you and I are one in the same. Socially awkward and undeniably hilarious, with a fervor for writing (apropos of our chosen career paths). Even when all seems lost with my brothers or me and I think you’re insane for putting up with it, you do absolutely everything in your power to make things right and give us the lives you wanted for us. Mom, I know that I tell you how much I love you nearly every day, but it truly doesn’t feel like I tell you as much as you deserve. Thank you for being my best friend and confidant. Thank you for being patient. Thank you for being my rock when I lost sight of the important things. Thank you for loving me unconditionally and whole-heartedly. Thank you for being brave for me. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me and everything you’ll do in the future. Thank you for being my mom. I love you! Happy birthday, Mom.

April 8, 2012

In my pattern of speech, I like to avoid words like “never/always”, “no one/everyone”, or any other absolute words as much as possible. In my eyes, those words completely diminish the credibility of a statement. I like to hedge my statements, and it’s nearly impossible to use such definitive words and remain honest. I’m about to make a statement, and I’ll present it to you now as an absolute truth. No one has ever made me feel the way you do. I don’t mean to say I’ve never loved, never cared for someone strongly, but the actual way that I feel. The way that I feel, not only as a couple, but as an individual. I’ve never been so bold as I am with you. I’ve never felt so fearless or ready to take on the world, and I assure you I’ve never felt so sure of myself. Every day for me is a constant, “Am I doing it right? What comes next? How do I do that?” but then there’s you. You’re like my constant reassurance. You make me feel right. You make me want to keep going, everything I do, keep going and keep moving forward. For you. There’s no one else I can say that about.

Then there’s this other thing. I almost don’t even want to say it because I know it’s probably been said in every really terribly written love letter you’ve ever heard of, but it’s just this sparkle in your eyes. Some idiots throw that in places because they probably heard it somewhere and thought it sounded romantic when it actually sounds really stupid, but it’s the god’s honest truth; you have that fucking sparkle. It’s like there’s always something more and either I’ll never figure it out or I’ll drive myself crazy until I do. 

I never finished writing that, but I guess I won’t have the chance to now. So I’ll just leave this here.

January 24, 2012

Stress has turned into demons. They’re ugly little fucking demons. I can feel them forcing themselves into each and every muscle, pulling tighter and tighter so I can’t move. They weigh heavy on my shoulders and become bigger and heavier, pushing down on me until my chest caves in and I can barely breathe. They fall unto my eyelids so I can’t see. I can’t dream because they’ve taken hold of my mind, pounding themselves deeper and deeper into my subconscious  If you could see inside me, it’s all black. I’m conquered, I’m destroyed. I try to fight back, harder and harder, but for each victory there are ten more challenges. All the warriors in the world can’t help me. Demons, go away.

November 23, 2011

But why? But why is everything I do in pursuit of making someone else happy? I’m not a revolving door but I sure as hell present myself that way. Walk right through me and leave just as quickly as you please, because I’ve got nothing to stop you. Take what you can get and leave as you may is what I’m all about. Stop me.

October 23, 2011

We’re so arrogant, aren’t we? So hesitant to grant anyone else credibility. To believe in what they have to say unless it’s well supported. Even then, our skepticism outweighs our rationality. Or instead of arrogant, are we simply cautious? So cautious, in fact, that we’re reminded over and over that we can’t believe a word? Have we been groomed by the ultimate bullshitters to never accept a straight answer, and eventually, learn never to give one in return? I don’t know one person who I can take 100% at face value. But is this a matter of experience or a cruel joke played by society to make us feel trapped, alone in our own minds with no one to trust? Is it a simple matter of perspective or is there truly a conspiracy against us all, subconsciously inflicted upon us by our own minds?

August 22, 2011

It’s morning. I wake up feeling a little drunk, a little disoriented. He crawls under the covers with me. I scratch his bare back until he looks at me. He’s not the same. Those blue, blue eyes that once seemed to hold a whole world behind them now appear shallow and bloodshot. The bags under his eyes are so dark. He looks washed out, or maybe worn out. From what, I don’t know. Next thing I know, his hands are on me. I can’t decide if I want them to be. He looks almost scared. As if he doesn’t know what he’s doing. I can imagine I look about the same. Next thing I know, he’s in me. I can’t comprehend what’s going on. It happens; I see it and I feel it, but I don’t understand it. I don’t say anything. I just think. Is this happening? Is this okay? I can’t decide. Indecisive. More than indecisive, I am conflicted. I am confused. I feel lost. This is not what I want. I shouldn’t be letting this happen, but I already have. He said he wouldn’t do that to me. Not ever. I look at him, and I don’t even know him. I don’t recognize him. For a second, I don’t recognize myself. I once felt a part of him; he now feels like a perfect stranger. Pause. I feel vulnerable. I feel helpless. I feel exposed. Suddenly, it’s over. I still can’t tell reality from my fogged-up thoughts. He puts on his clothes and walks away. It’s as painful to watch as it is to think about. I feel vulnerable. I feel helpless. I feel exposed.  But more than anything, I feel betrayed.

August 17, 2011

Let’s not start from the beginning. Let’s start from the start. He says he knows where we can be alone. Parks right next to the lake. My move. I run barefoot into the lake. Laughing, watching him chase after me. The mid-summer sun is at its setting. I stand on his feet, the way a little girl would with her beloved father. I look up, and he kisses me. Just like that. I know immediately this would be the start. The start of something really, really good. Flash-forward. Already, I am alone. Sitting, my thoughts racing. I don’t want to be here anymore. Let’s flash back again. The morning sun is pouring through the carelessly opened blinds. My bare skin against that of another. I turn to him. It looks like a movie. The sun makes him glow. Everything around him is white; he is a vision. It feels as though he stares into my soul. But maybe it was just that he was looking through me instead. There was a strange kind of peace in his eyes, but not a kind I was sure I could trust. His smile was ever so slight. He looks genuine. He looks happy. This was the first night. I know immediately I have to make this last. File away the memory under “emotions so strongly emitted by a facial expression.” Flash-forward. I sit at the piano, weeping. Singing a song that strikes a chord in my soul. It makes me think of him. It makes me think of her. I am alone. I want to go back. Flashback. I swear he’s looking straight into my soul. He knows. He feels me. I feel the intensity of his stare and match it with my own. He can’t keep his hands off of me. Is this real? We lay, tangled in each other’s arms. The world around us, but we don’t notice. It’s only us. He and I. We. I know immediately there is a change in us. We are one. Flash-forward. I am surrounded by friends. I am gone. I am alone at this point, I already know. He is with her. He says he’s not going anywhere. I pretend to believe him. He gave me that sort of look of eternal reassurance you see maybe three or four times in a lifetime. He’s good with looks. Apropos of why I probably fell for him. I know immediately this will never be the same. The next day, I am hesitant. We are together. I know immediately we are not together. He is distant. As distant as he seems now, but he is in my arms. I know. I already know.

And just like that, he is gone.

March 16, 2011

I wish I could tell him what I really think. He wouldn’t think I was so ditzy and giggly, and he’d realize why I “melt like butter” when he smiles. You know how when you think of something too much, expectations can never live up to reality? I feel like somehow, he always manages to make it even better than imagined. It just reminds me that he’s different from everyone else. It feels so much better. Superior. Improved. Everything with him is so fluid. Nothing ever feels forced. Comfortable. Relaxed. Content. And hooking up with him, doesn’t feel like hooking up. It doesn’t feel like making out with some disgusting, horny mess. Every kiss, every touch, is sweet. Calculated. Special. Connection isn’t the right word, but it’s the first word that comes to mind. There have really been only two people in my life who I’ve really, genuinely liked, and he’s one of them. Sometimes I even doubt the first one, because looking back it feels like more of a depressed, abusive relationship in which I convinced myself that I was madly in love. Something about being with him feels so much different. Enhanced. Heightened. Infatuation isn’t the right word, but it’s the first word that comes to mind. If I told him any of this, he’d run for the hills. That’s why I never would, and can only think it to myself and pray that he sticks around a while longer. I just wish he’d realize that I could make him so happy if he let me. I’m different too. Being together could be the most perfect thing that ever happened to either of us. Opportunity isn’t the right word, but it’s the first word that comes to mind.

December 19, 2010

I’m not allowed to talk about it. That’s what’s unfair to me. That’s the reason. The unfairness, I mean. The reason I couldn’t stop crying on your shoulder that night you sat there and held me in that freezing cold pick-up truck. You told me you missed me more than anything. Here’s what really set me off though; I thought of everything you put me through. And I thought about how I was always there anyway. And how you can throw me aside if you feel like it, but I’m expected to still be there when it’s convenient for you. And the most unfair part about it is that you and I both know that I will still be there. But you kept telling me you missed me. You know, maybe I missed you too. Maybe I missed you all along, but it didn’t matter then. Because you didn’t miss me. I wish you wouldn’t see this, but I know you will. And I just wish I could talk about it, but I can’t. And it’s unfair.

August 7, 2010

Since birth, it’s been our nature to not want to let go. Like when you put your fingers near a baby and they grab on with all their strength, not letting you pull away. Even now, letting go is one of the hardest things we go through. I’ve been surrounded by a lot of change lately, and people trying to let go, and I think we all need a little help with this. I’ve been thinking about how difficult it is when you have to let go of someone you love; leaving behind the closeness and intimacy of the relationship, all the “I love you’s” and the kisses. But I’ve been looking back to my past, which is something I’ve always preferred not to do, and I realized how many people I’ve already let go. People I left for my own sanity, people I’ve drifted from, people who’ve cast me aside. And after the fact, when you’re looking back, you realize how true it is that they’re not in your life for a reason. But they were there at that time for a reason. They taught you lessons, made you stronger, or at the least gave you good memories. But after they’ve come in, they’ve done their job and it’s time for them to go, it hurts to let them go. But it’s part of life, it moves fast and you need to keep up with it. You have to keep moving on just to survive, and the process of letting go is a major part of it. So when the time comes that you need to let someone go; a friend, a boyfriend, someone who’s moved away or deceased, just remember that they’ve made their appearance in your life and helped make you who you are today. And they have to leave, simply so that more people can come in your life and make an impact, and eventually leave. They won’t always leave, but going into every new relationship, it’s to be expected. Don’t keep trying to hold on, it’ll only prolong the pain. If they’re not there, they’re not going to be. It’s the way things work, but it’s not something to get upset about. At one point, they were there. And that’s all that matters.

July 27, 2010

When you love someone, there’s a pattern to the way you come together. You might not even realize it, but it’s almost like your bodies are choreographed: a touch on the hip, a stroke of the cheek. A short kiss, break away, a longer one, his hand slipping down your back. It’s a routine, but not in the boring sense of the word. It’s just the way you’ve learned to fit, and it’s why, when you’ve been with one guy for a long time, your teeth don’t scrape the other’s lips when you kiss; you don’t bump noses or get nervous. And when that guy isn’t there anymore and you have to start all over; a new routine, new motions, that’s when it starts to hit you that everything’s different. And I’m not saying it’s exactly bad, it can be refreshing and exciting, but it’s not familiar. And that’s what I like, familiar. And I guess you could say I’m starting to feel a little lonely tonight, which is what’s making all of this come to mind. I’m not alone though, I have more guys to talk to than I did before, but I’m lonely. Because before, I didn’t need lots of guys to talk to, I just needed that one and I’d always feel like I had someone by my side. Honestly though, I’m still happy. But I miss my best friend and having him tell me how much he loved me, how I was his everything. I’m glad I can still talk to him, we can still be friends. But I’m not good with change either way.

July 22, 2010

It’s almost scary to think how sudden this was. I could’ve connected the dots though. You were so distant. As distant as you seem now, but you were right there in my arms. And you kept saying you had something to tell me, but would cover it up with something lame or tell me you loved me instead. And when you kissed me you told me, "This one has to be perfect." And you told me it’s the reason you couldn’t stop staring at me. You wanted to capture the moment in your mind perfectly. Remember my face at that exact moment, in case it was the last time. I wish I was able to do that now. You know, it really is the little things we take for granted.