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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natalia is never allowed to get drunk ever again 

I believe the best way to deal with bad things happening to me is to not take them seriously. 

like my parents divorce or my eating disorder or in this case, when my sober close friend made the decision to make out with me while I was wasted.

I barely remembered it when I woke up.

The more I talked about it the more I started to remember. 

I remember us talking about how I was still drunk.

I remember telling him it was his decision whether or not something happened.

I remember him stroking my body before it happened.

I remember him grabbing me and pulling me closer as it happened.

I don’t remember every single detail but I remember enough to be full of regret, discomfort, and disgust. 

As the days go on its all I can think about. I wanna remember the whole thing but it probably won’t happen if it’s already been a day and a half.

I talk about it seriously on here, but of the 2 people i told i have convinced them that I am not nearly as hurt and affected by it even though it’s been clouding my mind.

he was supposed to be my friend.

just my friend.

but friends don’t take advantage of you.

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.