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.
there was a time where I would spend the entire morning with you before you had to go to work late afternoon.
and two hours later, on your break, you would beg me to come see you for those short 15 minutes.
there was a time where I would sneak out of my house at midnight just to sleep with you for a few hours because you asked me to.
and because I wasn’t able to see you the next day, you whined when I had to leave because a day felt like an eternity without me.
there was a time where we had spent 2 full days together and i was worried that you were beginning to get sick of me, but you reassured me that you never would.
but you don’t beg me to see you on your breaks anymore. you dont ask me to come over anymore. and if one day feels like an eternity than you must be in forever because I haven’t seen you in weeks. and you don’t reassure me anymore and you don’t say goodmorning anymore and you don’t hold my hand anymore.
and i miss you terribly. and i started smoking again. but I’ve also started writing again. and I’ve started reading again.
but I don’t eat. and i haven’t slept.
how am I supposed to look at it?