it contained a small amount of things: sunglasses he bought me, shirts he both gave me and that I stole, a bracelet he gave me from his trip to Florida (i asked him “isn’t this special to you?” and he replied “yeah but so are you”), the shoes he bought me after I refused, a ticket stub from our first date, and lastly, a like of poems i wrote about him. I knew I shouldn’t have read through them but the masochist in me won and i really felt it hit me.
he is gone for months.
we will not speak till january.
and the note we left on was bitter and awful and full of hurt and absolute confusion.
I wasn’t sure who to believe at that point because nothing was adding up and i felt like my brain was going to fucking explode because so much was happening all at once and then you were just gone
and all that’s left is me and her talking about the past and talking about how we’re gonna make it to the future.
August 10th, the day you were born.
today is going to suck because you will be all I can think of today.
like, “what are you doing” and “are you doing well” and “do you still think about me” and “do you still think about her” and “do you think about what you did to us because you fucking ruined us both and i hope it eats away at you till the day you come back”.
I started a photography project on you. happy birthday; it can be your present. im hoping it gives me the temporary closure that I deserve because the day you come back i will be ready for it. I will no longer be the sad girl that is currently sitting and writing this. I will be strong and steady and firm and sure.
everything reminds me of him.
old cars, dimples, brown eyes, large steering wheels, dinosaurs, even fucking burritos.
he follows me everywhere I go and it sucks because I just want to heal and i cannot do that if he is still here in my mind.
he took my heart and my sanity to freaking south carolina.
memories in his bed and in his stupid beautiful car play in my head on a loop when I am alone which is the WORST because all I want to be right now is alone.
brown eyes aren’t the same for me anymore which means I can never look my own damn self in the eyes without wanting to ball up my fists and pull at my hair.
i wasn’t cut out for this sort of thing.
I found out that his bed has been corrupted.
and his kiss was never mine.
and his words were not just for me.
I got bruised knuckles and cuts on my fingers
but today has been better than yesterday.
and tomorrow i will be sore but it will be better than today.
I will always count on tomorrow.