It's 8:44 on a Sunday night

i'm propped up in bed

typing away on my laptop

the wash is going

a soft hum of churning and spinning

clothes bathed in warm bubbles

half a mug of tea

Abandoned

on the bedside table

the window is open

and it makes the whole room cold

but i don't close it

i want to listen to the rain

On our secone date, you gave me flowers. A tiny, beautiful bouquet of daffodils you stole from a yard on the way over. It made my day. Three months later, on our anniversary, you gave me flowers. This time, it was a big, beautiful bouquet you bought from a flower shop. I loved them just the same. Tonight, before I go to bed, I'll look over at the dented Goodwill frame on my bedside table. In it are the dried up daffodils from our second date. I kept them because I knew, in that moment, when you nervously pulled them from your pocket and offered them to me, that these daffodils were going to be one of the first reasons i fell in love with you.

i am terrified

that you will wake up and see

what i really am

#haiku

Phoebe Bridgers quietly plays through the hum of domestic activities. The old, wood floor boards creak under your feet as you get up to pour yourself another cup of coffee. You ask where the filters are. I tell you. It's flurrying outside the window, dusting the porch in soft, white powder. I sit at the table, drink my tea, and watch the snow coat the silent street. You kiss my cheek and remind me that the christmas lights are still up. We don't take them down. Not yet. The smell of cheap, bitter coffee fills the kitchen. I watch you take a sip, wincing at the taste, and slide the sugar over to your side. You give me that small, soft smile, and, in this moment, I feel like we could stay like this forever.

i grew out of a crack in the sidewalk. concrete walls and asphalt floors are not the most hospitable, but i sprouted nonetheless. i was stepped on and undernourished at times, but i learned to grow strong roots and take in fleeting moments of sunlight. then, one day, you came along. i must have caught your eye when you passed me, because you stopped to admire me. you were taken by my beauty, so you plucked me from my concrete home and put me in your pocket. i remember how colorful your garden was; i'd never seen so much green in my life. you set me down in the dirt and tucked me into the soil with such care and tenderness. my neighbors were tall and strong, vibrant in hues i hadn't thought possible. it was a good life. too good for me. while your other flowers blossomed and bloomed, i shrank and shriveled. you watered and nurtured me, and slowly grew angrier with each of my new wilted leaves.

"WHY AREN'T YOU GROWING"

"I GIVE YOU EVERYTHING"

"I RESCUED YOU"

"SAVED YOU"

"WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT"

i didn't know how to tell you. that this was too good for me. i didn't know how to live. i only knew how to survive. i was tough and hard and couldn't grow in such a lovely garden like your other flowers. you thought you could save me. fix me. all you did was take me away from what i knew and showed me how

truly

broken

i was.

i spent last night cutting off chunks of my hair. just me and a pair of dull scissors sprinkled with strands of hair i spent the last year trying to grow out. dramatic? perhaps. impulsive? probaby. what my therapist meant by "healthy coping mechanisms"? definitely not. i'd probably have regrets if i wasn't in such a deep state of apathy, but i don't care to imagine that right now, so i won't. those of you who have somehow remained unfucked-up will not understand the wave of absolute euphoria that follows this kind of exertion of absolute and total control. it makes it all so worth it.

i was 19 when i learned the truth of first kisses

that they weren't like they are in the movies

that fairytales lie

i was 19 when i started to believe there was something wrong with me

i had waited

and waited

told myself that i'd get there

eventually

that the day would come

and then it did

and i thought i was broken

because i felt nothing

You ever notice how

You spend time

Planning a life

That's already passing you by?

then we lay

stretched out on the grass

pointing out shapes in the clouds

watching them stroll across

the sky

sun setting

in waves of orange

red

and purple

painting the sky

a child’s watercolor

stargazing

pale moonlight

inventing constellations

feeling small

in an infinite universe

kissing

holding

breathing

staring

memorizing

each eyelash

freckle

curve

line

green eyes

flecks of gold

lips

ever so slightly chapped

whispering against my skin

“You’re a natural”

laughing softly

“At what?”

feeling him smile

“Life”