It’s about 6:30 in the morning, streaks of the golden sun, beams of light just starting to break through the pools of ambient blue skies. Perspiration shining like drops of dew on his bleached pale skin. The air that hangs around him feels heavy as his mind so easily glides back to smoke-filled nights in early October. He tells himself it wasn’t his fault, she was a hurricane trapped inside a twelve dollar bottle of aspirin. She was always one overdose away from the cemetery down the block and she wasn’t good for him. Yet the very sight of her drug induced eyes, glazed with misfortune as freckles danced on her cheeks and the cracks in her lips made everything else just fade. How easily he fell to his knees for someone who could barely walk in a straight line half the time.
So it’s my friends eighteenth birthday and me along with about nine of my friends decide we want to hold a birthday party for her. So we start planning for this big day about two weeks early, making sure nothing and I mean NOTHING goes wrong. We carefully pick an incredibly expensive and sophisticated restaurant and we order an even more expensive cake in hopes of making her happy. Slowly but surly the big day rolls around, at about 5pm I pick my friend up from her house and we head towards this restaurant, now our friend that had ordered the cake had given the online store the address of the restaurant as it’s where we were all going to pay for the cake together.
Seven days a week and it’s a cycle that keeps going. With you on my mind, anxiety in my veins and then there’s the coffee I’ve been drinking at college, small round cups of styrofoam filled with sugary content and too much powdered milk, stamped with the words “coffee”. It’s overpriced.
It’s the girls, groups and groups before being called a hypocrite I’d like to state that I’m in one too. The part that’s near to falling off but just there in the background, smiling at jokes and laughing way too loud just for the sake of acknowledgement. It’s the attention I don’t even want but yet I still find myself chasing after it.
The conclusion I’ve dropped to is that my mind has been split into two realities. The one I keep living inside the confines of my body and then there’s the one people see. I’m the girl who’s sometimes too moody and doesn’t share much, but then I’ll crack a joke so good yet equally offending that people won’t know what to think of me. And people hate uncertainty. So people will think it best to take a step back from me.
And then there’s the one in my brain where everything seems so irrelevant, the things they say and do. I don’t want to be a part of any of it. And no I don’t like taking selfiies on park benches with smiles so wide and fake it’s almost believable how we don’t actually hate each other and how that thing you said about my hair being obnoxious yesterday was just a joke.
But I still sat on that stupid park bench in the freezing cold doing a fucking peace sign with my fingers as my lips curved upwards. It was kinda fun though.-H
I forgot to say, “I’m sorry”. I’m sorry for pinning pins against your chest, giving birth to the destructive thoughts imploding in your head. I’m sorry for stomping on roses meant to be picked up and watered. Cutting the ropes you fastened to keep our love in place, snapping warm looks like twigs under heavy weight, burning bridges made to stay in place.
It was kind of like playing tug of war, I just forgot we were supposed to be on the same team. The same beam of light reflecting in opposite directions wounds forming right where it hurt the most. The heart.
And you had trouble conceding with the weight of my intentions, falling face first into an abyss. Lying there at the end of the pit thinking. The clocks ticking and I could make this longer add more smilies and metaphors plunge them from the heaps of literature sitting in my brain. But I just wanted to say I’m sorry, for doing to you what had already been done to me.
Heartbreak, it spreads like a disease. Doesn’t it?-H
We often put people into boxes. Nonexistent, made up, nothing close to reality. Boxes.
The first impression doesn’t matter when it comes the inner contents of the box labeled with a particular persons name.
It’s the memories. Those that are stronger seem to dominate. They take up most of the space. When it comes to you my box is filled with an abundance of emotions. One overlapping the other, fighting for space when there is only so much I can give.
Your box is overflowing with the smell of caffeine and pancakes in the morning, it is loaded with the warmth of your arms as they sit bound around my shoulders, safety. Raindrops dripping from your lashes as smoke fills our lungs, your box is the first cigarette that loosely hung from my lips.
Your box is a bunch of Lavender’s in a vase on the kitchen counter for when I come home and it’s watching anime till’ four in the morning when we end up snoring on each others shoulders, just to wake up with sore backs the next day.
Your box is also throwing things and watching them slam against the walls forming irreplaceable cracks in the white, it’s screaming at the top of my lungs and begging you to stay. It’s watching you and her, hand in hand as scars start to form in mine.
Your box is saying goodbye because there’s nothing else left for me to say. It’s packing up and getting out of your way, of her way.
Some boxes are better left sealed, shut tight. And I’m trying to forget, but the box I build for you has stuck to me over time like glue and forgetting might just be impossible.-H
And I am no longer the girl in the picture frame sat atop your fireplace. The one with long hair, a smile showing teeth and skin soft as silk glowing under the warm summer sun. Glistening eyes under the light as my head rests upon your shoulder.
I don’t smile like that anymore and I almost never go outside. You still call to see if I’m alright. And I often say I’m fine. Then the line goes dead and my head slides back in the position it was a while ago, against the window. Staring at the sun as the rays shoot past trees, the warmth it brings gives rise to memories I had buried deep inside. Memories of you and I. -H
Hey guys I just wanted to put in this little note type thingy at the end. So I reached a total of 1000 likes on my blog and that’s huge, at least for me it is. Because I never imagined I could get to where I am today, I’ve always thought of myself as a total flop in general.
I’ve always been clumsy and I’m super tall and awkward and I don’t do well when it comes to social situations. The list of my imperfections goes a long way and I’d hate to bore you so I’m just going to get to the point. I may be bad at almost everything I do but writing is something I truly believe I’m good at. And no I’m not the best and I can’t ever be the best because there will always be someone better than me out there and that’s not necessarily a bad thing, it just means I have more people to look up to and learn from.
I’m truly grateful for every single person that has taken the time to read my writing. You are amazing and you matter and I appreciate you. If any of you guys ever want someone to just talk to leave me a comment and we’ll talk, if you’re ever down or feel alone just come to me and I’d love to hear you out.
Once again thank you for blowing my mind with your amazing support and helping me reach my goals.-H
There are poets who write about the collision of atoms, the laws of the cosmos meaning the laws of the universe itself, the forming of constellations and then they compare it to the love they have for their significant other.
I can’t seem to do that. I mean have you looked up at the sky? That giant never-ending monstrosity, the void that is the universe. And I don’t mean staring at pictures of the stars through a mobile screen then writing poetry about how they shine so brightly.
I mean the planets, I mean what a telescope shows you. I mean looking up as soon as you’re out from under a roof. Just looking up.
And some people are too afraid of the universe to ever look up, they say it makes them feel small. It makes them shrink into themselves. And I understand that, but at the same time I don’t.
Because at the same time I know that when I look up at the sky it’s a constant reminder of how large I truly am. Because I myself am a part of the fucking universe. And the universe is a part of me. The very molecules that make our body mass are the molecules found in the center of high mass stars that exploded into the galaxy. How amazing is that? How fucking amazing.
Because the following are the very words of a genius himself,
“We are all connected to each other biologically, to the Earth chemically and to the rest of the universe, atomically.” -Neil deGrasse Tyson
How does that make you feel? Knowing you are not nothing but a part of the galaxy.-H