The end of the world

The end of the world

I’ve recently thought about what I’d do if the world was ending. If the phone lines all crashed – if nobody could contact each other… I don’t know how I’d react.

I couldn’t go to Long Island because I’d have to drive through NYC. All the roads would be blocked and that’s honestly the dumbest location to be. I can’t see my parents – they’re too far. Gas would be hard to come by and I wouldn’t be able to get as far as DC, let alone Florida.

Continue reading “The end of the world”

Continuing.

Continuing.

I once wrote a letter. It contained my deepest thoughts and feelings about you… and I never sent it. I wanted to, trust me, but ultimately, it’s now tucked into my journal—the pages torn from being carried around for so long—and it’s going to stay there, invisibly so.

I think I wrote it wrong. I think I was right to leave you be, but again, I was wrong to believe that letter could change something. I’m not sure what it was; that you’d finally understand why I was so hurt, that you’d empathize and feel for me, or that I’d convince you to love me.

Continue reading “Continuing.”

Orbits.

Orbits.

I wanted you to contact me. I wanted us to cave again, even if it meant distance and heartbreak and confusion again. That was better than longing for something I cannot see.

No, it’s not fair, and yes, everything would have to change, but it’d be worth every ounce of trouble for me to have you.

The way I felt about you made me question if I ever loved before. And living beyond my time with you was like watching a shooting star blaze by in the night sky and then watching the void just for a glimpse of something more miraculous to come.

I don’t know how to handle my life without the light you gave me. As my life screams signs pointing to you, I wonder if your life returns arrows in my direction.

I closed this chapter with you. I thought it was over and my lesson learned, but what if your orbit centers near me? What would we do if our star illuminated the world? What if we could see and it was all clear?

From AG with Love

From AG with Love

I’m not sure you care—if you’re even reading this—but I had to put it out there because I feel the last of our cords wearing down. They were once wound so tight together that we couldn’t tell which half was yours or mine. Then we tugged, and pulled, and tore what was only our own until our knot was beat and bent and thin, and slowly, but surely, breaking.

We could never see what bound us, but the last of whatever it was is almost gone, so these are my last words to you—if you even care—if you’re even reading this.

Continue reading “From AG with Love”

Learning

Learning

I’m learning to walk without you—and except for that night through the streets of New York—I technically always have. You were consistently hundreds of miles away, but you never failed to whisper in my ear and laugh with me wherever we were going.

You remain this phantom I’ve hosted for months—appearing on sidewalks as cars pass playing our songs. The hardest part is knowing that you’re just as close as you have always been; a movement to the device that never leaves my side, and yet, everything has changed so that you’re not.

Continue reading “Learning”