When it broke.

When it broke.

The music was louder than normal. The lights bright, pink, and piercing through the light fog of the dance room. I was laughing like a lion and dancing how you imagine I would. It was midnight, and 30 seconds into the song before I realized what was playing. Our song.

I felt as if I was searching for something I knew I wouldn’t find throughout the night—as if you’d teleport to this bar 3,000 miles away—but now that you’ve filled my ears I regret finding you.

It was a mistake to snapchat you the scene of the dance floor even though we admitted that we wanted to talk again like nothing is different. We were more ourselves with each other than we are with anyone, but now, everything has changed.

Continue reading “When it broke.”

Love me some ‘Lover’

Love me some ‘Lover’

After binge-listening to Taylor Swift’s album, Lover, and recently learning about the Karlie Kloss – Taylor Swift (conspiracy) relationship, I’ve been blown away by some of Swift’s work. No, this isn’t just a shoutout to T-Swizzle’s songs—even if I’ve been a fan since wayyy back in the day and still know the entire rap to “Thug Story” (feat. T-Pain)—I’m impressed with how significantly her album resonates with my experience in pseudo-dating a straight girl.

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The fireflies we caught

The fireflies we caught

You are the fireflies,
laughs in the bodega,
the skip under my step,
the late night in a city we don’t know.

You are the butterflies in my stomach,
the numbness in my arms,
the smile aching on my face.

And no, you aren’t only these things,
but they hold pieces of you
that will never be lost.

No matter how many more memories
I build on top of them,
or how much I sometimes wish
you weren’t.

You are every late night phone call,
every FaceTime ring,
and all of the texts I prayed
were from you.

For the entirety of my life,
you are the happinessI will search for,
because you are the fireflies
we caught that night.

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.”

Update.

Update.

I write, but here is the complete background as to why I write. The following is an honest reflection from the most major turning point in my life. It’s longer than I wish it was, but I believe many people will be able to relate, and nobody talks about this stuff, and that should change.

In college, I experienced a stage of depression that was only seen by me, alone, when my friends, professors, coaches, staff, anyone, was not around. I created a lonely world to carry in my shell of a body behind a smiling mask. It was caused by years of neglect to my mental health from loss and less than great luck, all out of my control.

Continue reading “Update.”

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?

Aches.

Aches.

It was an old ache. An old, rumbling, roaring noise of an ache. The kind of war-wound type of ache you only know exists if you live through the pain and it’s slight recovery from the living hell of your life to the feeling that lingers and acts up when the weather does.

You were that ache. You left me different and there’s no denying it, and I wish you hadn’t, but you did.

Continue reading “Aches.”