just say goodnight

They want me to forget you already

A part of you does too

Look ahead 

You have to let me go

And you want me to remember what you've done 

but if I focused on all the hurtful things the men I love have done 

I'd never giggle when I saw a rainbow 

and I want to be that little girl 

that woman 

who has the hope of the stars reflected in her eyes

And I let go of your hands because you asked me to 

but sometimes we say things we don't mean 

and your eyes told me you wanted to hold me a little longer 

but your arms forgot how 

because they carried too much pain 

And I know we don't know 

but a year ago I believed 

when no one else did 

in nights around that river 

I sent you love 

and I wished I pleaded in those stars and so much time passed 

and you stood before me wanting your lips on mine 

again

I knew

It was still there

Always there

Even when you let go forget try to forget not feel think remember feel think 

No

If I work hard enough it will go away

Will it now?

How?

If you ignore the truth it's still the truth

And it's still in you inside deep within

The whisper

My name

So now I'm the only one again who believes in all that's here 

and it's lonely 

So fucking lonely without you 

without those eyes 

Those eyes that so love looking into mine 

Drowning in mine

My body was your life raft 

and your guilt carried you

Willing you to push me away 

So you could suffocate in peace

Dear one

Everything is blurred now and you can't receive my kisses anymore 

And I can't hold you and lessen the pain

And I can't smile and light the room so it's brighter for you to see

I can't do anything or be anyone

And I'm already some transparent ghost

A hologram of what could have been

Has always been

Waiting for you to reach out and hold

And I don't care

No one believed me a year ago 

And no one believes me now

Not even you

And it's lonely

So goddamn lonely

Being the only one who believes

In anything 

But I don't care

I don't fucking care how fucking wrong you all think I am

Even you

I am the guardian of this heart

And I will run and scream and cry for it and it alone 

And dance naked in my living room every night

Like the night you played your favorite song in all the land

Because I must

And I float 

And if your arms ever remember

How whole they felt wrapped in mine

Just call 

Whisper my name

And it will be

It just is

Like the beauty and the pain and the fantasy 

This fantasy isn't 

It's always been your reality

So wake up.

Thus with a kiss...

I glanced at my phone.

2:04.

And then suddenly I wasn't waiting anymore.

I had to leave.

I left the bar with a determined energy.

Whenever he'd call it was usually around 2:30, which meant he'd probably be home from the bar soon.

It felt like I flew there I got there so fast.

I pulled into the driveway and saw him walk past the window in the living room.

He's home.

What are you doing? I asked myself.

I ignored myself. 

I walked onto the porch and started knocking on the window.

He was standing directly in front of me in the next room.

I could see him talking.

He didn't hear me.

What are you DOING? I tried to ask myself again.

I started knocking on the door.

Was I knocking softly on purpose?

You're acting crazy.

I don't care, I finally replied to myself. 

I started knocking on the window again. 

He looked right at me.

If this was my life as a romantic comedy there wasn't a Peter Gabriel love song playing in the background. 

There was slow, creepy, horror movie music playing. 

He looked partly terrified and shocked and more timid than I've ever seen. 

I was so angry. 

Rage was what had driven me there. 

I was standing there demanding an answer.

He slowly opened the front door and stood on the porch looking at me.

What happened? I asked.

Um...well....he slowly started.

And I could feel the anger swelling in my chest.

What night did we talk? Was it Wednesday?

And I held my breath in fury, he doesn't even know when we talked? I thought. Fuck.

Yes, I tried to answer calmly.

Well, he slowly continued.

And then he told me what happened. 

And I just listened. 

And it wasn't anything I'd ever imagined. 

It was worse.

And he was a wreck.

And I just listened. 

And he talked. 

And tears formed in the corners of his eyes and he was so remorseful. 

And I felt the rage in my heart slowly dissipate and my breathing slowed. 

And then all I felt was love. 

And I didn't know what to say there wasn't anything to say so I wrapped my arms around his neck and just held on.

It's okay, I whispered.

And the next hour was sad.

And there was a moment I looked down and saw these ridiculous socks with blue monsters and hearts on his feet.

Those are cute, I pointed out.

Yeah I get fun socks every month. I belong to a sock club.

No you don't. 

Yes I do. 

No. 

Yes. 

What?

I've had socks on every time we've slept together. 

What?? No you haven't. 

And then there was a moment he seemed angry.

Why are you being mean to me? 

I don't know. Maybe I don't know how to react to you. I don't know if I should just cry and say I'm sorry. I don't know if we should sit down and share funny stories. I don't know if I should yell at you and tell you to get off my porch. I don't even know what to do with my hands. I look like I'm praying right now. I don't even pray. 

I took his arms and wrapped them around me and buried my face into his chest.

And he told me things he still didn't understand, those nights he'd open up with me and tell me things and not know what it meant. 

And how I still scared him.

Yeah but you kind of love it. 

And I kind of hate it. 

I thought that's why men climb great mountains and go to war. 

I don't climb.

And all I remember is that I kept playing with these white buttons on his shirt, his black and white striped shirt and I kept touching the buttons on his chest, like it was keeping me grounded so I didn't float away.

You're so handsome.

I got a haircut today.

I'm so happy to see you.

And I held his face in my left hand.

You said we were gonna meet for a drink.

That's not a good idea, he said. But you've been drinking tonight, haven't you? He asked softly.

I nodded slowly.

And I didn't realize right away but there was a moment he seemed to be saying goodbye forever.

And I knew there was nothing to be done, that fate had stepped into our lives and separated our hearts intentionally, and I hadn't known what to say, so I mostly hadn't said much of anything. 

Except my eyes. 

My eyes had been pouring love into his the whole time we stood there. 

It's hard to look at you, he'd said. 

But then there were moments he couldn't look away.

And our eyes seemed to be singing all the things neither of us could say.

And those moments we just stood there staring at each other in silence, those felt the most honest either of us had ever been.

And I guess there are some times you don't need to say anything.

A look is powerful enough.

And as I tried to accept what he wasn't saying, and imagined the reality that this might be the last time we ever saw each other, I simply asked if I could kiss him on the cheek.

And he must have sensed what I was doing, he must have felt the farewell with which I intended the kiss to be, because he suddenly wasn't calm anymore.

And he shook his head and was pulling away from me.

I'm freaking out I need you to say goodnight say goodnight please say goodnight.

And as I continued holding on to his hands not wanting to let go, not wanting to say goodbye, wishing I had said something more, something beautiful and poetic, wishing I could just stand with him there all night, I saw the urgency in his eyes, and quietly said, Goodnight, and let him go.

And he went inside and I left. 

And I was so sad. 

And he was moving in the morning. 

And if I wasn't so fucking crazy I probably wouldn't have shown up at his house at two in the morning. 

And if I hadn't gone I may have never found out the truth. 

I was gonna call you, he'd said.

And I knew something was wrong. 

I knew something had happened. 

And I'd texted his friend to see if he knew if he was okay.

He doesn't know me, he'd said. 

They don't know me.

And I knew. 

I'm not gonna be better tomorrow, he'd said.

I know, I'd replied.

And there was nothing I could do.

And nothing more I could have done. 

But he'd made the decision to change his life the day we'd talked on the phone. 

And that had to be a good thing. 

Me in his life had to be good.

And now I wasn't gonna be anymore. 

And maybe never would. 

And one day I'd learn to be okay with the pain, the heartache of losing a soul mate.

But maybe he didn't really want to say goodbye. 

Maybe he wouldn't let me give him one final kiss goodbye because he knew it could never be goodbye. 

Just goodnight. 

He'd offered me a drag of his cigarette and I inhaled deeply. 

That first night together we shared a cigarette. 

It has always been a fantasy of mine to share a cigarette with you after sex.

You look ridiculous, he'd said, smiling.

I was wearing the same red dress I wore tonight. 

I remember, he said.

And here we were, months later, sharing another cigarette, like some symbol to the end of this story.

Two cigarettes. 

One hello.

One fare thee well.

Did you mean anything you ever said to me?

And he'd softened.

If it was nice, I meant it. You're a wonderful woman.

And for the first time since meeting him fifteen months ago I hadn't wanted to sleep with him.

It was the first time I'd ever felt so connected to him on an entirely new level.

It really was something altogether different. 

And I discovered this just as it ended. 

And it was over.

At least this chapter.

And I didn't know if there would ever be another one. 

But there was something in his eyes, something about the length of our gaze, that made it hard to believe all this, this passion and pain and fervor that never left us, was leading up to this quiet, somber, summer end. 

sitting on my carpet

I'm sitting on my carpet. 

They cleaned them this week and I moved the furniture out of the way and some of it's still in the kitchen so I'm sitting on the carpet and the room feels big and vacant and my cat is sitting on the carpet too. 

The lights are off but the sun is shining outside the open window and the sky is a vibrant blue and the leaves are rustling in the trees and there's life outside. 

But I'm inside and I'm sitting on the carpet. 

I'm sad and kind of hollow and my heart is heavy and I feel isolated and I know tomorrow won't be as hard because yesterday was actually easier but right now I'm sad and I'm sitting on the carpet. 

And everyone thinks they understand and they try to help but their platitudes feel vacant and ingenuine even though I know they don't mean them to.

There's a rainbow after the storm and there are happier times ahead and a window is opening as this door has been slammed in my face but I don't care about the rainbow I exist right now and right now I'm sitting on the carpet. 

And they don't know and they don't understand because just because you read some book about relationships doesn't mean you understand the way his eyes looked as he spoke to me. 

And just because you think you've figured life out because you're not single you have a partner you know love you know it's out there doesn't mean you don't lie awake when no one is watching and look at him sleeping and secretly wish you were somewhere else. 

No, no one actually understands, they think they do and maybe they try to but they are limited from their own life experiences and jaded scope so no one knows but me what this is this ache this feeling this pain.

And right now I'm sitting on the carpet. 

This too will pass and there's plenty of fish in the sea and time will tell and who knows what the future brings but right now I'm sitting on the carpet. 

Right now I don't know what to do and I'm lonely but I don't want to be around anyone because it's more lonely to be around people who think they know the answers than it is to actually just be alone because at least alone I can have my thoughts and no one is judging me because my thoughts are mine and I don't think they're wrong I think they're honest. 

My friend rocks her baby and she says I think I know what's best because I spend 24/7 with him and why don't people trust that I know what my baby needs?

And I think I know what's best I spend 24/7 with my heart and why don't people trust that I know what I need?

So right now I'm sitting on the carpet. 

There's nothing I can do and my heart is so heavy and I wish there was a way I could bottle this light I could pour this love into a vial and deliver it to him so he could drink it and all would dissolve into his bloodstream and work its way to his heart and give him strength and make him smile and I wouldn't even have to see or hear I'd just know. 

Because I made him smile, he was crying and he said you made me laugh, because sometimes we're good for each other, broken people and hopeful people, and sometimes people cross paths with you because they have to and everyone hears me but no one really listens. 

So I'm sitting on the carpet and I'm not sure what to do but I know my heart is smart. 

I'm not a fool I have intuition and I knew something was wrong and it was and I knew to go there and I got the truth and sometimes I wish I didn't share my heart with the world because it thinks it knows what's best and no one believes I know my heart better than them. 

And I don't want to tell you what happened I know what happened and I know why he had to go inside and I'm tired and I wish there was someone else who truly did understand. 

But we don't because we're not the same and maybe that's the point and maybe that's partly why I write. 

And if I could never write if something happened that forbade me from writing that ceased my creative outlet and my processing and the joy that stems from stringing words together everyone would say find a way write anyway fight the circumstances that hold back the cry of your heart. 

Pursue your artistic dreams. 

Defy the odds that are stacked against you. 

So how come when I love and life circumstances try and prevent that cry in my heart everyone simply looks me in the eyes and tells me I'm wrong?

How can one cry of my heart be right?

And another so strongly be wrong?

I'm sitting on my carpet with the lights out and my cat now sleeping and I'm thinking they're wrong. 

Because my heart has always known when to listen.

in 5 years time

I had this thought today when I got home that I wanted to write something to you. 

And then I thought, Fucking Christ, Woman, people are probably already fucking sick of reading about my annoyingly tragic He said he was crazy about me and then I never heard from him again story. 

And then my next thought was, I don't actually fucking care. 

Cuz you're not gonna call me at three in the morning again. 

And I'm not gonna send you a photo of me again. 

And this is all there is. 

My letter to the world. 

And YOU.

You weren't mean to my friend. 

The last time she asked you what was going on with us you told her to fuck off, do you remember that?

And then six months later when you approached her and asked what was going on with me she resisted the urge to tell YOU to fuck off. 

Cuz wouldn't that have just been the perfect line in this story?

No, she didn't, she talked to you. 

And then I stumbled into the bar that night. 

The night you decided you wanted to date again. 

Which already feels like a long time ago. 

And maybe that's a good thing. 

So I thought maybe since you talked to her a few months ago you might talk to her again. 

But you didn't. 

You didn't say anything. 

And Mother said, That sounds like him.

But as I listened to her recount what she said and the one sentence you said, all I heard was

He's unhappy too.

And maybe this makes me a terribly fucked up person, but that made me feel better. 

To know you're suffering. 

Cuz you know, I really fucking am too.

And it's not my fault. 

I didn't do this. 

And I don't actually want an apology. 

I don't want a phone call. 

I don't want to show up at your new bar and have you intensely stare at me in delight and fear and bewilderment. 

I want the next time I see you to be so entirely epically different than all of this shit that it doesn't even feel like us. 

When you finally realize, when you're sober at 2am and thinking of me like you always do, when the weight of how you've hurt me crushes your heart, when you remember how beautiful my eyes looked looking up at you so sincerely flooding you with light, when you're feeling brave. 

I want you to think of a way, some intensely romantic, over the top, obscene way to communicate your heart, your remorse over being such a damn fool, yet again, over and over making the wrong choice where my heart was concerned.

I want you to contact my best friend whose number you now have, the one person, other than me, who believes in the good in you, in spite of you, the person whose witnessed our chaos, who captured my favorite photo with you, and I want you to tell her it's time. 

Time to do something, not say anything, because all you've ever given me were words, words with no action, no follow up to ground all the romance I'd think later was a lie. 

But you told me you've never lied to me. 

You just haven't been equipped to do everything you said. 

So the day you are, the day your self love overshadows your self hate, the day you realize you are deserving of real love, not the kind that would push you off a building, the day the image of my face is pressing on your heart, that's the time I want you to do something. 

I don't even know what. 

But you will. 

And this is destroyed. 

This hope, this trust, this desire for a continuation of our story. 

It's ended. 

I can't even dream of your caress anymore. 

My subconscious wants to run away from you. 

But there will come a day, likely a long ways from now, a day we shouldn't even still be thinking of each other. 

But we will. 

We both know we always will. 

And by then, this failed story, this romantic tragedy will have gathered cobwebs around it. 

And the pain won't be present anymore. 

Because we both will have healed. 

And this time, this time you smile at me and look upon my fancy face will be entirely different. 

Because it will have nothing to do with our past. 

We will be different. 

And we'll have grown. 

And forgiven. 

And I don't know, I don't know if you'll be strong enough to let me have your love then. 

And I don't know if the other men who've been in my bed will have stepped into your corner of my heart. 

But there is a chance, a small miracle of a chance, I could let us try.

I don't know who I'll be then yet. 

But you said I was right. 

You had nothing to counter me. 

You're in love with me.

Because I've been right this whole time. 

And you're never wrong. 

Which is why I was so right for you. 

Because with me, you were. 

Wrong. 

For the first time in your life I knew. 

Not you. 

And one day you will be ready for a partner who pushes you. 

Challenges the very things you believe. 

But by then, I will be even stronger. 

And it will take a warrior to have the strength to hold onto my heart. 

And until then, I am pursuing this adventure alone. 

Because I don't need you.

But you, dear one. 

You will never have peace until you've won me back. 

So do the work. 

Fucking dig deep. 

Self love. 

Then Resa love. 

That's all you need, dear.

You've over complicated the simplest thing.

sabotage

There's this scene in He's just not that into you that I absolutely love and it's such a small moment but it's just so fucking real and it's exactly how I felt last night. 

Jennifer Connely finds out her husband has been lying to her, after all the shit she's already endured and tried to forgive and she takes the mirror from the wall and smashes it into a hundred pieces in a rage. And then realizing she now has to deal with that, throws her head back, the way a child might when you tell them they have to go to bed, and then quietly goes to get a broom and dust pan to clean up the mess she just made. 

It's brilliant and it's accurate and I fucking love it. 

I got home yesterday and decided to clean. 

I had to clean. 

I hate cleaning. 

But I'm so sick of so much shit, I am like, buried in stuff, I can't breathe, I don't enjoy it. 

And I looked in my closet and said, I just want all of this gone. 

So I started with the floor, with the dirty clothes and threw them in a pile in the hallway. 

And then the shoes. 

So many fucking shoes I never wear I don't even want to wear I DONT LOVE YOU ANYMORE. 

And I made a pile of shoes in the living room, so many pairs, until there were fewer shoes in my closet than in the donate pile. 

And it felt good. 

It felt good to be purging my life. 

And I started on the clothes that were hanging and the clothes that were folded and I was shocked by how easy it was to take shirt after sweater and pants I FUCKING HATE PANTS and SHORTS??

When the hell have I ever worn shorts??

And soon I had bag upon bag and my closet was looking emptier and emptier and I was on a role and I didn't fucking need any of it.  

I didn't need these THINGS I didn't need HIM I was strong and resilient and determined. 

And then I stood in front of the closet one more time, the empty black hangers scattered in crazy directions, the pristine dresses staring at me I hadn't even touched yet, my cat sitting in a new corner he'd never sat in because it had been buried by shoes for years and I threw my head down the way Jennifer Connely threw hers back and I suddenly felt crushed by the feeling of, I don't want to do this. I don't want to deal with this. I don't want to deal with any of this. 

I don't want to have to purge my life. 

I want to already be done with this part.

I want my apartment to already be clean and I want him to fix this and I just fucking want what he said would be mine. 

I want to take you somewhere new, somewhere neither of us have been, somewhere near my place.

I WANT MY FUCKING DATE YOU PROMISED ME YOU ASSHOLE

What the hell happened?

Where did you go?

Did you get in a violent accident and lose both your hands so you had no way to dial a phone and fucking call me??

What EVENT could justify making plans, making OVERTURES about all your feelings your fucking feeeeeeeelings and then disappearing AGAIN??

WHY DO YOU KEEP DOING THIS TO ME 

fucking fuck FUCK FUUUUUUCK

And then I layed down on my bed and I sobbed. 

I fucking wept. 

And I realized I am never going to hear his voice again, that voice that called me five minutes after talking to me on the phone for hours just to say I just wanted to say I can't stop thinking about you and then I remembered I still have a saved voicemail, a saved voicemail from fourteen months ago because I could never bring myself to delete it and I hit play and his soft voice crooned in my room Hey Love, it's Matthew..and I started crying harder because this message was a YEAR. OLD. It was so old and it felt like the exact way he talked to me a WEEK AGO a fucking week it was all still there, still amorous affectionate intensity and everyone thinks I'm MAD they think I'm crazy because of YOU because you've consistently been inconsistent with my life with your presence not in my life your shadow never giving me peace. 

And now everyone's like, let it go, Reese, there's plenty of fish in the sea, Reese, you're better off without him, Reese NO OK NO IM REALLY NOT IM FINE YES I WILL BE FUCKING FINE BUT IM NOT BETTERRRRRR IM NOT BETTER OFF IM LESS OFF IM WITHOUT A REALLY FUCKING RARE INTENSE INSANE CONNECTION I'm not better ok? So please stop saying I am. I'm not. I'm not better I'm without. I'm without my hearts greatest desire, a desire that has stayed in me and will never leave me. 

So stop.  

Fucking STOP.

Ok?

Please?

Please stop telling me how much 

B E t t E r 

Off

I am.

I'm not. 

I'm fucking sad. 

And confused. 

And I set this boundary because I KNOW I can't live 

Like this. 

I did this. 

But I can still HATE it even though it was my idea. 

I can still WANT him even though I will never. Have him. 

I don't want to numb the pain I just want to be through it. 

I don't want to fuck someone else I just want to be alone. 

I want every man to go away to leave me alone to stop lying to me about all the things they will never do and never be and I just want to be fucking left in peace. 

He will never be strong enough to look me in the eyes and hold my hand and just stand on that fucking bridge and be scared. 

And last night I had a dream we were at his bar and he came up to me and I recoiled. 

I jerked my body away from his touch and I glared at him and I said nothing. 

And I walked away.  

The man has even destroyed my dreams of him. 

And fucking hell. 

He could have at least left me with that. 

Love means cutting you out of my life.

I've made a lot of stupid decisions in my life. 

A lot. 

My taste in men is questionable. 

In general my life decisions are questionable. 

Sometimes I'm not really sure I should be allowed to claim myself as an adult because my life choices often call that into question. 

My co worker dubbed me last week "the office soap opera." 

Someone else pointed out that's better than being the office bitch, so I guess there's that. 

But the one GOOD thing from making so many poor life choices is that I have actually learned from them. 

One would fucking hope, Jesus.

And one mistake I definitely made that resonates with my spirit is after I broke up with Kai. 

I ended things-it was the first time in my life I ever broke up with any man I'd loved-but I then continued to spend time with him constantly for well over a year afterwards. 

So I never really chose my choice. 

And what's worse, I ended things because he wasn't treating me right, and the more time we spent together "as friends"--friends who occasionally fucked, as friends who dated are wont to do--the worse his treatment of me became. 

There was one time in particular, I remember, we had been hanging out and he asked me to leave so Elena could come over, a girl he'd been dating, to see if they could work things out. 

He sort of threw me out of his apartment but said I could come back later. 

And yes, I am ashamed to write this, I left and went to some coffee shop to wait for his text like some loyal puppy and once I read She's gone I headed back to his apartment. 

Ugh. I could punch myself.

Then, and yes that isn't even the him treating me bad part, he was all fucking moody and sad because she dumped his ass and decided he kinda wanted to go to Home Depot to get parts to build a (I honestly don't even fucking remember, some sciencey nerdtastic pretend he actually knows what he's doing accelerator) and I wanted to help or make him feel better --because that's what you do when you love someone-- and since he NEVER HAD A FUCKING CAR I drove him out to the burbs and spent like, a fucking hour? Maybe longer? As he wandered around the depot getting his stupid parts and once I drove him back to his place he spent the rest of the evening ignoring me, working on his project and when he did talk to me he was rude and snapped at me and basically treated me like shit. 

Now.  

Did I separate myself from his toxic behavior and lack of appreciation for how loving I was?

Of course not. 

I continued to stick around. 

I continued to endure his treatment of me like I was some dirty old homeless dog he occasionally fed his leftovers to. 

I even let him move in with me when he had no place to go until one day I finally lost it and screamed at him in my living room that he was such a loser and he moved out that weekend. 

I always felt that while he did treat me terribly I ALLOWED HIM TO.

And that somewhere along the way he lost respect for me because he watched me stay and allow myself to let him treat me that way and I literally watched him fall out of love with me and how can a man love a woman who respects herself so little to stick around to be treated like garbage?

And I've ALWAYS felt like part of the demise of our relationship was my fault. 

And I NEVER want to be that girl again. 

Love doesn't mean enduring lousy treatment. 

Sometimes love means leaving. 

So that's what I decided to do today. 

I thought about Matthew's behavior and how violently inconsistent he's always been. 

I thought about how fucked up it is to call a girl in the middle of the night and talk to her for six hours and tell her you're in love with her and then not show up on your date. 

And I thought about how being ghosted by him Yet. Again. when he's already done this, let me in and then pushed me away and then let me in and then push me away and then let me in and then push me away and it's actually really disgusting how many times he's repeated his wretched behavior. 

And I remembered Kai. 

And remembered being the girl waiting in the coffee shop for him to say I could come back over. 

And here I was years later waiting for some other boy to send me a text to say it was ok for me to come back over. 

And I thought, NO.

No to all of it. 

No to his inconsistency. 

No to his entitlement to my body. 

No to his bad behavior, his bad decisions, his unloving actions, his lack of appreciation for how wonderful I am. 

There are consequences for our actions and his choices now include a life without me.

Not out of spite or anger or trying to prove a point. 

But out of love. 

Love for myself. 

Love for him. 

Love for the fact that he could never love a woman who endured such mistreatment and I could never love a man who continued to treat me the way that he has. 

So I've ended it. 

I opened my heart and my life to him, I offered up complete forgiveness and a clean slate, and he gave me silence. 

He ghosted me. 

He did the one thing he knows hurts me. 

Intentionally. 

Because he's broken. 

And unable to love. 

And I don't actually have to forgive him anymore. 

I'm grateful that this all happened. 

I am. 

I learned the truth to a story that's haunted me. 

And I passed a life test and learned that I have more self love than a need to be loved. 

And that feels incredible. 

I will walk away from this and I will heal and I will love again. 

And I will love deeper than he will ever experience. 

And I will even be surprised at how quickly I am able to forget him. 

And he. 

He will never stop thinking about me. 

And he will continue to be haunted by our story. 

And he will always regret how terribly he treated me, the woman who scared the shit out of him, the woman he could never attain. 

Now is his painful mistake. 

And when he has a chance years from now, I hope he'll have learned from it. 

And feel proud of himself for not treating the most important woman to his heart like she's insignificant. 

I hope for her sake he does learn. 

And maybe her happiness will have a tiny bit to do with the pain I'm enduring right now. 

That would make me really happy. 

And in spite of all he's put me through, I even hope he's happy too. 

I'm so happy. Me too.

When you're young you think you need to have what you want. 

Or you can't live without it. 

And then you get older and you realize you can. 

Want something. 

And still live without it. 

You talked about the things we'd do and oh, the places we'd go.

But you can't do those things now. 

And you won't go those places with me. 

So instead, dear one, do this.

Since you won't spend the summer beside me, spend it writing me a song. 

Write me a song after that first song. 

An album full of songs. 

Record them in your room, with shoddy acoustics and your voice cracking on some high note after too many takes but keep it in there because it's authentic and it's real and it's flawed and lovely and it's you. 

Spend the summer looking at the stars more. 

Like every fucking night, not every once in awhile like you usually do, but fucking stare. 

Hard. 

Take a long ass look at how fucking beautiful they are, how far away, and yet, blindingly bright. 

And spend the summer going on walks.

You love them and you never go on them.

Go on a walk. 

Go on a walk and look at the stars and think of me, miss me, wish you were holding my hand, and then burying your face in the back of my neck as it got chilly and I stopped walking to stare at the stars too. 

Spend the summer at the beach because we both love it even more than sazeracs and we've never been there together and that was where you wrote my first song. 

Take your guitar and write another one and this one doesn't even have to be for me. 

Write about the past year and the fucking mess of all of it and the loss and the love and the loss of love. 

Spend the summer making breakfast, fucking master that shit. 

It's my favorite fucking meal and your scrawny ass has never cooked for me and you claimed you can cook and I want those eggs fucking perfection.  

And spend your summer watching movies, old favorites and black and whites you've never seen and watch one with Elizabeth Taylor and think of my raven locks you surprisingly got used to.

And then go to Iconic and stare at the giant photo of her on the wall there and remember how giddy I was when we sat there over brunch and I persistently resisted the urge to try and take a photo with you because I was so happy, so stupidly, utterly ecstatic to be eating Sunday brunch with you. 

Spend your summer taking photos. Photos of anything and everything, the wonderfully strange people on the streets, your own handsome reflection you can't yet smile at. Post a few for me and I'll know you're thinking of me and spending your summer happily. 

As happy as you can with us apart. 

And in the fall, when it surprises you how quickly those months flew by, when you're back to your madness busy bee cram packed madness and you're go go going and you won't make time for walks or movies or songs anymore, lay in bed and dim the light low, and put on a song that makes you enjoy missing me, and smoke and let the memories flood you and remember when your sheets smelled of me and the way the salt on my skin tasted and softly exhale a "fuck."

And close your eyes and silently send love my way. 

And in December, when the year is already nearly over and you think I've forgotten you and all of this, when you no longer know if you even believe it anymore, when it's my birthday and two weeks before Christmas find me. 

And give me the cd you made me of the songs you wrote for me about the love you withheld from me and the walks you took without me and the stars that brought me closer to you.

And I will smile, no, glow.

To finally see that face, those eyes I fall so deeply into. 

With twinkling Christmas lights shining behind you.

My favorite face, my favorite time of year.

And that effusive giddiness, the kind it overwhelmed you to look at will be standing in front of you once again. 

And you'll tilt your head slightly, as you always do, and smile your sideways smile, and ask me, What was the best part of your day?

And I will beam, having waited for what felt like an eternity, Oh darling, how I have so much to tell you.

All Kinds of Enamored

I heard this podcast called Modern Love and there was this one where this husband goes to his wife and tells her he wants a divorce and the wife responds with, Ok, but I don't believe you. And I thought, that sounds just like Reese. 

And I thought, that does sound like something I'd say. 

I don't know if that makes me stubborn or makes me wise but I definitely have a defiant spirit. 

When my heart is convicted about something I do not give up. 

I clench tightly with the jaws of life until me or them tirelessly give in. 

You're right. That's hard for me to say because I'm always right. But you're right. I have nothing to counter that. 

Because you're in love with me, asshole. 

Even your mom knows it. 

Actually.

I had this dream I was at your family's house and I was singing Frozen songs to your little brother and everyone fell in love with me and it was like a real Disney movie only in Arizona. 

I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm actually glad I've spent so much time NOT getting what I want. 

It makes me so appreciative of everything that is. 

I haven't heard from him in two days?

Two days??

HA.

Try eight months, bitch.

I could namaste the fuck out of waiting. 

I've already mastered some Schumann and thrown out some clothing and pet Cartier so much my couch now has fur. 

And I was right. 

You are right.

I wanted to haunt you while you tried to be with her. 

What if I told you I did think of you?

Then I'd say I knew it. 

Fucking right. 

Jesus. 

Jesus. I literally just called upon the supposed son of God in talking about what you do to me. Jesus. That about sums it up. 

I don't need more. 

I want more. 

But I don't need it. 

Do you have any idea what that feels like?

To be absolutely shaking in ecstasy at the mere thought of looking once again into his eyes. 

And also almost casual in acceptance over the reality that it may not happen anytime soon. 

Denial?

Doubtful. 

I've already lost him twice. 

Twice. 

Most people think they won't survive losing someone once let alone realizing their endurance over the same pain twice. 

But I have. 

I have survived. 

I got my wretched little heart shattered and then reshattered so I know I am going to be fine. 

There isn't this choking urgency like if I can't have it I'll die I'll never have it I have to have it what will I do if I can't. 

No. 

There is rather a calm acceptance. 

A trust. 

I'm sorry I didn't trust you, trust what was really going on. 

No. That is literally the dumbest thing you've ever said. I gave you no reason to trust me. 

And yet here I am. 

I am crazy. 

And I'm wrong about a lot of fucking things. 

But even my girlfriend who secretly kind of hates him said, Well there must be something there for it to last this long. 

So I don't even care. 

Of course I care. 

But I'm not fretting. 

And I always fucking fret.

I have anxious attachment, for fucks sake. 

If I don't hear from my lovers I fear something's wrong and they're gonna cut me out forever. 

(And to be fair, sometimes they do.)

But I have no anxiety this time. 

Is this patience that I'm feeling??

Has my heart matured to a love that accepts instead of demands?

That'd be pretty fuckin rad. 

I could get used to that chick.

And also.

Seriously. 

How long

Really

Could he possibly stay away?

It's You.

I don't expect anyone to understand.

Hell. 

I don't understand. 

But I kind of think the most painfully beautiful things in life often make no fucking sense. 

And yes, I am a romantic. 

And I believe in the overwhelming, intoxicating force that is love. 

I think you can love anyone and you can fuck anyone and you can live any number of different versions of your life and be happy. 

You seem really happy. 

I am happy. But I'm happier with you.

But there are a few rare things, a person or two in a lifetime, that are game changers. 

And their presence takes your joy to an incomparable level. 

And likely, with such intense joy, there is also intense pain. 

And your friends think you're making the wrong choice. 

And they're probably right. 

Except they don't understand that there's no moral compass when it comes to matters of the heart and body and soul. 

It simply is. 

And giving in is sometimes the only way to live truthfully. 

This time is different because we've connected in every way 

but

physically. 

It's frustrating and also painfully -literally- beautiful, because in the fifteen months I'd known this person it was the first night I realized how deeply connection existed between us. 

Great sex is easy to right off as common lust, pheromones and base carnal instinct, stemming from nothing other than body chemistry. 

And really girl, you should think with your head and not your pussy. 

But great sex and great conversation?

Great sex and three hour phone calls that leave you physically aching for one another but also so contentedly happy simply to hear the resonance of the other persons voice?

The truth is often a complex thing. 

We're so ingrained to believe things are this or that. 

You are or you aren't. 

When truth, truth is often a little of both. 

And the truth I can communicate may not even encompass my actual truth because there are truths within me I haven't even acknowledged yet. 

And maybe some truths can never be fully lived. 

He loves. 

And I love. 

And it doesn't make sense. 

And it's reckless and unstable and unpredictable and painfully inconsistent. 

But it is. 

And it's me. 

It's him. 

And it's you. It's you. And it's you. 

And I don't know. 

I sincerely have no fucking idea. 

But

Any day is brighter with you in it. 

And timing 

Timing

Fucking timing 

FUCK

It giveth

And then takes it all

Every tingle in my body

Every overwhelming smile that fucking hurts my face

Every fantasy

Fantasy I hate that word, but you are, you are my fantasy

The images of every place we'd make love

The movies we'd see

The cuddles and chats and hours spent endlessly falling deeper, further in love

Further at the mercy of the others hands

Simply to be

Exist entirely

In the blissful state that had alluded us both the entirety of our time

Peaceful

Full of peace

Simply to sleep

Per chance to dream

No

No longer need of dreams

For finally being in

In the dream that haunted both our nights

Continually knawing at our insides

Go

Go to her

Go to him

And life continues

And there is joy without each other 

There is fire and laughter and tears and rage 

That exist in a life void of this dream. 

But my heart-

My heart hears the soft cry of his 

singing for mine

And where time trudges on

And I, at its mercy, march forward,

The belief in this love pervades 

Breathes life

Into my longing soul 

I used to go there just so I could look at you. Because just seeing you made me happy.

Don't you think I fed on those moments? That maybe they got me through the day, through everything?

who knows, baby

I woke up early. 

I went back to sleep for awhile but I got restless and suddenly wanted to be up.

I went into the bathroom and washed the night off my face. 

And the sun beckoned through the window. 

So I stepped outside and sat on the steps. 

And the warmth of the sun and the ocean breeze was so overwhelming I laid down, right there on the porch.

I closed my eyes and thought about the song he'd sent me. 

Hearing it made me feel so beautiful.

And remembering how beautiful I felt made me so happy.

Happy he was thinking about me. 

Happy I was wrong about never hearing from him again. 

Happy that the song was enough.

I hadn't planned on responding but I suddenly wanted to.

Simply to say I was happy and the song was beautiful. 

And I was laying there with no spot of makeup, my hair fresh from my sheets, and donning a black silk vintage negligee. 

And I felt so pretty.

So I took a picture. 

So he could see. 

So somehow he could be there in the moment with me. 

And I didn't feel nervous sending it. 

I felt somehow he would understand. 

And the moment I hit send he immediately viewed it. 

The same minute. 

Because he was sitting there thinking of me too.

And I smiled. 

My joy spread across my lips and onto my cheeks.

It sparkled in my eyes and danced in my hair. 

And that was enough too. 

I'd spent so much time, so much sadness and frustration needing a dialogue. 

Needing answers. 

Needing closure. 

And as I set my phone down and closed my eyes again, I realized I no longer needed anything more from him. 

He didn't know what to say. 

And I didn't need him to know. 

I had just needed to know if he was thinking of me too. 

And he was. 

Is. 

And always will be. 

And we'll make stories without each other and place our mouths on other lovers lips and forget to miss each other. 

But then it will always come back. 

Like the urge to stop and look up at the stars. 

The call for each other's embrace. 

And maybe one of those moments, maybe one of the nights the longing is too great, he'll call and ask to see me. 

Or maybe he won't. 

But somehow the actual embrace was no longer what I needed. 

And maybe it made no sense. 

But I don't think anything about him or I did. 

And that was okay. 

I was okay with that. 

With the truth that our story didn't have an ending because it never could. 

We merely had an ellipsis. 

And for the first time, that didn't hold back my heart.

It made it soar. 

Because I could go anywhere. 

I could be anything. 

And he would still be there. 

Loving me in silence. 

And that was enough for me. 

The night my nails didn't get painted

What time is it, 11? Fuck, it's already so late.

We both had to work early and this fucking heat was making us tired. 

I didn't want to leave her because I hadn't seen her in four days, which for us felt like a month.

She's kind of my boyfriend, after all.

My person.

I've never met anyone whose the exact same brand of crazy I am. 

We both understand why we will unfollow and refollow a lover within twenty-four hours. 

Why we will want to stay in wearing nothing but yoga pants & sports bras & then suddenly when we should already be in bed need to go out and find the debaucherous satisfaction only late late nights can bring. 

Or why we can spend every night together and never get sick of each other. 

I fucking love her. 

But we did need to call it a night and my mind was processing so many different things I still needed to get done. 

Because at 11:30pm in my cluttered apartment I'm suddenly going to check everything off the checklist I haven't even made time to write. 

I should write tonight, I thought, driving home. 

I haven't written in a couple days.

Because sometimes that's what happens when you're too busy losing yourself in your experiences. 

I'm in this constant state, this tormented dichotomy, of wanting to go and be present in everything with everyone and wanting to stop and stand in some corner alone so I can process and observe it all. 

And write about it. 

I thought, You should run more, because most of the time I'm in the city now I'm drinking.

And I do love to run.

And I should go to bed earlier, so I can get up and give myself enough time to get dolled up for work. 

And I should paint my nails. 

And I should be reading a book.

And I should have another date lined up.

Because I haven't had sex in two weeks and when a friend hugged me over the weekend in his purely platonic way, I was so turned on I couldn't even say goodbye because my mouth stopped working. 

Fucking fuck. 

There's not enough time. 

For all the fucking fantastic things I love.

And all the incredible people I know and haven't met yet. 

And as I was driving I thought about my friends who have consistency.

The friends who work out every morning, who plan their meals and put clean sheets on their bed every Sunday. 

Friends who wouldn't stay out until 2am as some couple's unicorn and then come home and send photos to their ex because in spite of the wild blur of the nights excitement his face creeped into their mind and they needed desperately to be seen by him right then.

And as I wondered why I was such a chaotic cluster of inconsistency I suddenly realized how dark it was. 

Like, overwhelmingly blanketed in darkness. 

And I suddenly realized I was driving through lights that weren't green. 

They weren't anything. 

Because there was no light anywhere. 

The power had gone out across the entire grid of my neighborhood. 

I looked up through the window in my car and the stars looked incredible.

I hadn't seen them that bright since I drove home from the coast three months ago. 

I got to my apartment and changed out of my tight, white dress.

My apartment was sticky and I grabbed a pair of tiny shorts and a loose shirt. 

I immediately grabbed my phone and my keys and headed back outside. 

Cartier mewed plaintively in the open window and I cooed back in my baby voice, I'll be right back, boo boo. I'm just going for a walk.

But I only made it a block before the beauty of it overcame me. 

And I threw my keys and my phone on the grass and sprawled out on my back. 

It was dark and quiet and the grass felt cool on my bare legs. 

I stared. 

I just drank in the stars.

And I remembered how much I've always loved the cosmos, learning about space.

Supernovas. 

Black holes. 

And I thought of him. 

But it wasn't longing. 

I was too overwhelmed with this moment, with the satisfaction of being completely alone and witnessing such an unexpected surge of beauty. 

I didn't need anything else. 

And it was then I knew.

I wasn't the type of girl who ran every Tuesday or finished a novel each week or made time to write every day, because I was a creature of moments. 

And the past forty eight hours had led me perfectly here. 

And there was nowhere else I wanted to be. 

Laying in the grass.

Under a sea of stars. 

At ten to midnight. 

That was the life I wanted. 

That one fucked up night

I think I might actually have a Bumble date tonight after the show, I told my girlfriend. 

Maybe 4th time's the charm. The first guy only wanted to meet if I went somewhere near his place in Beaverton, the second guy only wanted to meet if I sent him a picture first and the third guy only wanted to meet if we talked on the phone first. Maybe this guy will be the one.

No. He wasn't. 

He wasn't the one. 

He wasn't the anything. 

He said he wanted to meet up that night and then I never heard from him again. 

He clearly died. 

Being rejected by people you don't even care about is the strangest feeling. 

Your brain is like, I don't care, because I don't even know them, I have no emotional connection with them, why would I care if they reject me?

And then your ego is like, oh spite, oh hell, how could he not want the passion inside me I had reserved for such a night?

It's actually incredibly exhausting being a girl. 

You genital on the outside bastards have no idea. 

But the good news is I'm having a no tolerance for bullshit philosophy so if a guy makes me feel like crap before I've even met him he gets the axe. 

Next. 

There's plenty of dick in Portland. 

Although apparently Portland is pretty fucking small. 

After the play, which was fairly intense and hit a liiiiiitle too close to home for my comfort, She agreed to marry me but part of the agreement was she said I can't talk to you anymore, FUCK, my girlfriend grabbed my arm when the actor said that line & I muttered 'Shit' aloud.

Also there was an orange cat that was murdered, themes of god and faith and giving people second chances who then ruin your life again. 

Needless to say when the show finally ended I wanted a cigarette and to hug my cat. 

We decided to get another drink somewhere and she suggested the bar under the Morrison bridge and I smiled. 

Oh do you not wanna go there?

No, it's fine. I'm smiling because I've only been there once and it was on a date with Batman.

We walked inside and were standing at the bar waiting for our drinks and the guy at the end of the bar looked familiar. 

It took me a little longer than it probably should to be certain but I turned to my girlfriend and said, Oh my god. That's Glasses. And he's on a date. 

Life likes to let you know how fucked up you are. 

I think it actually gets a kick out of watching you squirm. 

Glasses is my new lover, who I was going to meet up with the night before, but I was on day two of my period which means the only kind of sex I wanted to be having was the food porn kind where I ate cookies in my underwear in bed. 

I told him I could meet up tomorrow after this play I was seeing and he said he was busy. 

And now here we were in the same fucking bar and I get now why he was busy. 

It's actually fucking hilarious. 

Now life imitates art or art imitates life but regardless, I was suddenly in a play. 

My girlfriend had picked out a table before I got there which happened to be right next to where my f*buddy was sitting.

My girl and I sat beside each other facing the bar. 

And Glasses and his date sat beside each other facing us. 

I wish I had a photo of it. 

I looked up and he was sheepishly smiling at me, as though to say, well this is kinda awkward. 

So I did what any confident, fabulous woman would do. 

I walked over to him and said hi and gave him a hug. 

His date was adorable and had matching black rimmed glasses and I introduced myself. 

I was just telling him how amazing your hair and makeup looks, it's perfect, she gushed. 

I looked at him, the sheepish smile grown more awkward.

He was so uncomfortable. 

We sat back down and each couple continued in their respective evenings, all facing one another, all trying not to be preoccupied with what each other was doing. 

I wasn't bothered the way maybe I should have been?

Hell, if all had gone as planned I'd be on another date myself right now. 

But there was a part of me that wondered why she got priority when she was adorable and I was a sex kitten. 

I will never understand men. 

We went outside to smoke and it was so fucking windy none of the matches would stay lit.

I don't have a lighter, my girlfriend said. 

I know who will have one. 

And I walked back inside and right up to Glasses and said, Can I have your lighter, honey?

His face. 

Was priceless. 

We got half way through our cigarettes and Glasses and his date came out of the bar.

It was nice to meet you, the adorable one smiled, and Glasses gave me a sideways smile and a sheepish wave. 

And I laughed. 

I drove them out of the bar. 

They're totally leaving because of me. 

And my girlfriend nodded. 

I bet he's totally gonna think about me when he's fucking her. 

And my girlfriend nodded again. 

And then the desire came. 

For him.

For a fix.

I'd been working hard to ignore it, like he said he had always done.

If I just work hard to ignore it it'll go away. It did before.

And I suddenly knew wherever he was he was thinking of me right now too.

Because whatever we weren't or ever would be, we were the same type of fucked up.

what About god?

I was walking with a date last week after brunch around all the stupidly exquisite homes in Northeast Portland and what definitely felt out of fucking nowhere he asked me, Do you believe in God? We've never talked about that before. 

A normal reaction would have been to tell him what I thought, yes I do believe, no I don't believe, whatever feelings I had on the subject. 

But I think I've established I'm not a normal person and I never have normal reactions so instead of saying anything I was silent. 

Ooh, she doesn't say anything. What does that mean? He didn't accept my lack of participation. 

Which annoyed me. 

Did I mention I'm not sleeping with him?

We don't need to talk about that, I said curtly. 

And just kept walking. 

What the poor bastard didn't understand was a couple months ago, it may have even been the first night he invited me over?, my ex lover and I had been sitting outside-in the middle of the night? early morning? I guess if it's dark out we consider it night? even if it's 4am?-And he brought up God too.

Do you believe in God?

Yes. 

I don't believe in God.

I know, I remember. You said something about it last year.

What exactly do you believe?

I was hesitant to share with him because, well, one, religion is a really personal experience. 

And unfortunately, regardless of who it is or even if they may believe similarly to you, people are incredibly judgemental about it. 

And that kinda fucking sucks.

In my twenties I actually had a girl break up with me, probably my first girl crush, if I'm honest, she fascinated me so, and we developed such an intimacy, practicing our Italian after class, her teaching me about wine, she was like a sister to me. 

And then one night she took me out under the guise of celebrating my birthday and she wanted to end things. 

Simply because I believed in God.

I just don't see how we can be friends when we so fundamentally disagree. 

It was traumatizing. 

And then there was my first love who played Radiohead's How to disappear completely over and over again when we were supposed to be painting his room because if I believed in God that meant I must believe he was going to hell and how could I really love him if I believed that. 

And fuck, I didn't know. 

I felt like I was being punished for sharing something he forced me to share. 

So now I usually don't share it with anyone. 

There have actually been a lot of people throughout my life who've wanted to verbally go at war with me when they found out I believe in a god instead of don't believe in one and it'd be funny if it wasn't sad because I've never tried to argue with anyone about why they believe differently. 

And when my ex lover pushed me to confess my faith it was really uncomfortable. 

I was genuinely conflicted. 

I didn't actually want to share it with him. 

At all. 

But I liked him. 

And he's a moody fuck. 

And I kinda felt like I had to. 

Later he tried to convince me the connection we had was purely sexual. 

Because I guess talking for hours about God and supernovas is what you do with every pussy that's just a pussy. 

Fuck. 

So this other date, this harmless kid I will never have sex with brings up God in conversation, probably just genuinely curious and maybe wanting to have a philosophical conversation and I completely shut him down. 

Because I already talked to one wrong guy about it when that part of me is none of his fucking business.  

And I wasn't going to make that same mistake twice. 

Do you ever pray?

The ex lover had asked me. 

And I smiled. 

Because I used to pray for him every time I ran across the Hawthorne bridge. 

I told him I sent him love and light. 

Which is often all a prayer is. 

Heal him, Lord.

And bring him joy today. 

It seems like so long ago. 

That summer I missed him desperately. 

And a year from now, so will this.

And I'm looking forward to that. 

To this seeming like a long time ago.

That is my prayer. 

"Even My Ex Reads Your Blog"

I have to be honest when I say I don't think of myself as a writer. 

Writers read a lot and wear glasses and follow grammatical rules and have symbolism and euphemism and nuance. 

I fucking ramble. 

I like to make periods where there should be commas. 

I rant for the sake of not going insane. 

It used to be that the only people who read my blog were my mother and my three friends. 

But that was cool because I never wanted to "Gain. An. Audience" the way I tried with my YouTube videos.

I just write to write I fucking love to write. 

And I really never expect anyone other than my mother and my six friends (I have six friends now) to give a fuck about what I have to say and then come to find out people who've fucked my friends are reading my blog. 

This blog is famous. 

Ok, not really. 

I mean sort of. 

Fuck it.

IT IS.

People I've never met read this. 

People who fuck who I've never fucked read it. 

I don't know why. 

Mostly because I feel so scattered and chaotic I'm not sure it could make sense to anyone who doesn't know me. 

But a month ago a guy wrote me on Instagram, Instagram, did you even realize you could send messages through a picture app? 

And he said, Hey I've been in Portland for almost two months, but I've been reading your blog before I came here, in Chile, and I think is great, I really enjoy the way you write. 

And wow, fucking wow, another country? 

That is amazing. 

That's how I ended up seeing Spain. 

A random connection because of Instagram. 

And last week, after trying so hard to stop being lost in the loss festering in my mind, self pitying, foolishly obsessed obsessing, I woke up to this.

Hiya. I have been toying with the idea of messaging you for a while but I never knew what to say since I'm, you know, a stranger. But we have a weird connection---but I don't know if I should bring it up. Well I guess I just did. I dunno, this is probably so weird. I've just had some wine and am feeling brave and bold. So I am going to die under a rock after I hit send--But I think you're amazing based off of your videos (which I miss), writing, and photos. Your confidence is contagious 😊

And wow, fucking wow, really?

My wounded little spirit soured. 

And I wanted to hug her, this stranger who saw me. 

And delighted in what she saw. 

And it's connecting, words, expression, words aren't dead, fucking liar to make me question my own art, to acknowledge his own constant deceit, his words are dead. 

My words breathe life. 

They're fucking real and genuine and no one can ever take that. 

This shit is mine. 

And I knew my friends girlfriend didn't like me. 

It's probably because I used to text you so much, huh?

No, that's not why. She read your blog.

What??! What do you mean she read my blog I'm not even friends with you on any social media. How did she even find it?

And you know who else "found" my blog?

Kai's wife. 

Holy fucking shit was my life just repeating itself??

Do you read my blog??

Well, I read that one, because I was curious. 

Fuck fucking fuck. 

Curious. 

People I know and don't know are curious. 

And of what?

I don't even know what I'm saying.

Does anybody realize that?

I'm just as fucked up and lost as you are. 

Maybe more. 

And then there was her. 

The girl who dated my best friend, who was such a fucking cunt to her.

So all those months ago, out of love for my friend, I wrote how she could just fuck off. 

And my friend didn't even read the blog. 

My fucking best friend I wrote the blog for to defend her fucking honor never even knew I wrote it. 

And months later it somehow came up. 

And she read it then. 

And time passes, and people still watch you, voyeuristic fucks. 

And she got a letter from her ex, a letter from the hateful cow.

Who. Mentioned. My. Blog. 

This was cute, she wrote. 

No way. 

No fucking way. 

SHE?

She reads my blog??

And you know this fucking blog, this stupid inconsistent, chaotic diary of pain and hope and fucking disarray, is the reason, this was the catalyst, that made me ultimately lose Kai. 

And when I was fucking Matthew I was scared of writing because I was scared of losing him too. 

But I did. 

I lost them all. 

That's what I do. 

I love. 

And I drive away. 

And I don't know why I love so much. 

I don't know why I'm so fucking intense. 

I don't know why I can't just shut the fuck up. 

Just breathe. 

Namaste that shit. 

Because I have to. 

I have to get it out. 

I have to write the truth. 

It has to exist. 

Or I can never let it go. 

Any of it. 

And maybe that's what this is. 

Maybe I have to say what you fucked up beautiful souls need to hear or need to hear me say because you scream it into your pillow when the lights are out and everyone in your phone has forgotten about you. 

And maybe being too much isn't a bad thing. 

Maybe being discussed, being fucking google searched until people stumble across these words, these stream of consciousness thoughts, as I sit here and type away, unaware of the next word that will appear. 

Because writing helps me discover my truth. 

And the men I've loved have tried to silence me. 

But there's an entire cyber cosmos, that wants to hear what I have to say. 

And I want to tell you. 

I have to tell you. 

We can be fucked up and still be. 

It's ok. 

As we are. 

It's really all ok. 

Even when it's really fucking not. 

It's ok to not be ok. 

And to need someone to care enough to read this. 

Even if they never care enough to write their own truth. 

For you to read.