words about him *will be constantly updated bc I am a loser*

one night 

he asked me if I was happy 

I sigh, a lot of the time.

but not all the time 

and not as much as i want to be.

but right now

with you

I am okay.

im sorry he says 

I reply it’s not your fault 

he says not that kind of sorry.

The kind of sorry where I’m saying

 I wish it’d get better

but I’m not gonna sit here and try to solve everything.

and it was then I knew I was in too deep

because he wasn’t trying to fix me.

only understand.

I pick away at the nail polish on my fingers.

this is a sign of distress i have learned about myself.

he wakes up and grabs my hand.

does he know? or does he think he knows?

I choose to believe the former.

because either way

I feel better.

I love to watch him sleep.

my eyelashes scrape against the pillow when i blink and i wonder if he can hear it because it sounds like thunder to my ears but then again his slow breathing sounds like waves calmly crashing onto the shore.

my head is dizzy.

but I love to watch him sleep.

he hears me scrape away the polish on my nails

I thought he was asleep.

he says what are you thinking about?

I tell him nothing 

he doesn’t believe me, but also doesn’t push.

he talks of the future 

and reasons to get up in the morning

he talks of the very things I am afraid of.

but his voice is sweet

it doesn’t sound so scary when it comes from his lips.

and it also sounds possible.

he could devastate me.

a part of me 

is him. 

I know we’re too young to think about forever.

but right now that’s what it feels like.

when is it too early for love

I am unable to think of anything but the way his fingers draw on my body

like they are trying to paint the most beautiful picture.

no artist could compare to his fingertips on my skin.

he speaks in tongues on my inner thighs.

his hands make their way around my body 

i am awake

and i am alive.

tongues dance and fingers play

we are putting on a show.

arguments, even small ones about limes,

leave a burning sensation in my throat

and make my tongue feel like poison.

I worry he will get tired of who i am.

he reassures me often but what if he gets tired of it? of me?

I have no reason to feel this way.

we are in love. 

god, I love him. 

but what if love gets tiring? 

I’m just scared with no reason to be scared. 

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I found a box of his things & then I cried again 

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, 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.

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.

eye contact is a thing of the past, brown eyes.

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.

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’m all out of order

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?