Can I tell you about her?

Someone needs to remember her. My memories are dying quicker than I.

Can I tell you about her?

Please.

Before they are gone.

She wasn’t supposed to be first. She was to care for me.

I loved her the first-time I saw her

Her hair was the color of the sun

Her eyes as blue as the sea

Her laughter was a melody composed by angels

Her skin was the silk of gods

Her face...

I can’t remember her face

I don’t want to cry tonight

But if I cry tomorrow

I won’t know why

Can I tell you about her?

She would take my hand when the pains began

She would lean close

Whispering fantasies

I would taste her lips

As she kissed away the sorrows

She would tell me about…

I can’t remember

Who is that there?

See, the picture on my nightstand.

Do you know her?

Will you tell me about her?

Her hair is like the eye of heaven

Her smile is so sad

She is beautiful

Please

Tell me about her

my body is revolting against my soul

my soul is revolting against my body

my insides are under attack

and every once in a while

moments like these

I remember

the exact moment in the third grade

when the words, “internal conflict” were uttered

my eyes teary

jaw clenched

and back tensed

against that plastic blue chair

and I -

could finally give a name

to that

rumbling

crashing

aching

within

my body is revolting,

so is my soul

and I can no longer

find solace, a home

in the discomfit of my skin, or the crumbling of my bones

or the unfamiliarity of my reflection

but at a distance

amidst this chaos

I hear a roaring

a faint, gradual

rebuilding

and a crash

a rebuilding

then a crash

and a rebuilding once again  

I HATE that I 

Love

Swearing 

Instead of using

Sophisticated adjectives

They dance

Those curse words

On my tongue, ready

To pounce

They fail to wait

For revision

Societal appropriateness

Decorum

    They sat there silently for a few moments. He stared at the space between them. She was only inches away but he knew that he couldn’t reach her. He wanted to say something, needed to say something, but he didn’t know what to say. Anything he said would be too little, too late. The space between them felt infinite. Suddenly she grabbed his hand in her smaller one and laid them in the center of the stone bench, a bridge connecting the two. He quickly looked first at their entwined hands, and then up into her face. She had once been beautiful. Golden brown eyes and skin, dark, untamed hair, and a lively expression that left an impression that was not quickly forgotten. She was a shadow of that woman. He could not bring himself to look at her, her skin now pale and sickly, her hair matted, her eyes full of pain. “I want you,” she said in a soft, hushed voice. His eyes widened in shock, but he still couldn’t look into hers. He was afraid of what he would see there. Or maybe of what she would find in his. “I want you to be the reason I wake up in the morning, because tomorrow isn’t enough anymore.” And this, more than anything else she’d said, terrified him. He knew that when she had talked about it before she wouldn’t actually go through with it. She was too ambitious, had too many dreams. She was living in the hope that a brighter tomorrow was around the corner. And now that too was gone. He looked up. She was staring at him as though he was her anchor to this world. Her eyes met his and he saw an all-consuming sadness. So much goddamn sadness. Her eyes bore into his, searching for answers to unasked questions. Answers that he couldn’t give. He glanced down again at her hand wrapped around his. When had it become so fragile? A flick and it would crumple. She had once been the strongest person he knew. He made as to hold her wrist in his hand, and then saw the scars. She jerked her hand away and hid it in her pocket, staring him down. Daring him to mention it. Perhaps she had just been strong for too long. He turned back to her eyes. Her heart wrenching eyes. He looked past her at Ethan, who was animatedly telling a story to a few friends, and their eyes met. No, he didn’t love her. But he would still hold her while she cried, comfort her when it seemed the whole world had turned its back on her. He knew that there were some wounds that would never heal, scars that you could never possibly see, but he also knew that she was broken and he wanted to help fix her, help her because he knew that she couldn’t help herself. She saw his answer in his eyes and something resembling a smile flickered across her face. He loved her enough to believe that if saving her meant sacrificing his own happiness he would do it in a heartbeat.

I'm honestly very confused about my sexuality. I've developed big crushes on guys and short term ones on girls. In my mind I'm more sexually attracted to guys but more emotionally attracted to girls. But when I was with a guy and we kissed and all that, I didn't like it. Maybe I just didn't like the guy very much.. idk.. and the only time I've kissed a girl was in like 2nd grade.. and I just feel more emotionally attached to girls.. maybe the reason no crush lasts is cause I'm scared.. as you can tell, I'm confused.

Like I can imagine kissing a girl and holding hands and doing romantic stuff, but I can't imagine sex with one. (I am still a virgin btw). And I can maybe *possibly* imagine it with a guy? Sometimes my sex drive is high and sometimes it's low.  

I don't even know. 

I shouldn’t still be thinking about you whenever I

hear love songs. There shouldn’t still be electricity

in my fingertips or my pulse hammering in my

throat when I think about your mouth. I shouldn’t

be thinking about your mouth at all. I shouldn’t still

be daydreaming about the time you swallowed cherry

blossom petals just to send me over the edge, and I

haven’t stopped tying cherry stems with my tongue

since. Your name shouldn’t still mean magic, or

wonder, or someday. I shouldn’t still have your

hands memorized, or your sleeping patterns.

Maybe a year is enough distance to forget why

the door was always slamming, but it’s not

enough to forget late night conversations.

Maybe I only still think about you because I

know you haven’t managed to erase me either.

So maybe it’s true that time heals a lot of things,

especially when you put a thousand miles between

us, but bad timing doesn’t seem to stop my body

from going into overdrive at the mention of your

name.