A Dusty Old Notebook

people go but how they leave always stays.

Boil mint leaves and lavender buds, spoon in honey, and stir. This isn’t for your winter-worn throat, but your burning heart; how to finally cast that khaki-wearing asshole out of your chest and breathe in something/someone new. You’ve been sleeping in the same sweatpants for weeks now, and no man deserves that kind of power. Bring it back where it belongs: long hair and candles glowing and poorly versed rhymes. Claim your body back. Enchant this home to only know a love it deserves.

The most intimate thing we can do is to allow people we love most to see us at our worst. At our lowest. At our weakest. True intimacy happens when nothing is perfect.

I miss you in ways I shouldn’t - in whispers writing deadlines across air tight hugs & silence vacuuming the probable cause of all my faults into every gaze I place the stars; some days I talk to windows like you can hear me, some days I plant flowers in places the sun has yet to visit & wonder how long beauty can curve a smile that was never there. its taken me years to learn how to love, but I still haven’t learned

Because it’s 2am and the most important thing on my mind is the melt in your eyes and the blush in your voice, the way you smile when you’re scared, and how blessed I am to be so unprepared to write a poem in ink instead of pencil.

This bed is cold but at least it’s lonely and leaving means nothing to me.

I am just another empty body,  fingertips grasping at what they can not find stretching out to pull at your light, chasing the shadows and the ashes  your flames left behind now, I have to learn how to love cold, love hollow, love dark, love  everything that destroyed me and somehow  rise as worth more, fingertips grazing  my own rosebud lips, blooming  I am just another empty body, but I am going to fill myself with promises  that can’t be broken and love letters to myself and all the things you never gave to me, then I won’t be empty, I’ll be so so full

I’m numb and I’m tired. Too much has happened today. I feel as if I’d been out in a pounding rain for forty-eight hours without an umbrella or a coat. I’m soaked to the skin with emotion.

She was bored. She loved, had capacity to love, for love, to give and accept love. Only she tried twice and failed twice to find somebody not just strong enough to deserve it, earn it, match it, but even brave enough to accept it.

In this universe, there is order. One plus one is two. Things fall toward the ground. A feather will float on water. There is logic, a sequence to every action. Reach for another’s hand, an impulse travels from brain to neuron to muscle, down the arm. The heart beats, one two one two, and a breath comes in and goes out. In this universe, there also is chaos. The universe is moving towards disorder. Someone dies when they had so much to live for. Lovers meet and fall apart. There is grief and anger and pain. In this lifetime, there will be chaos but some things will always be constant. The sun will rise. The earth will spin. And I will always love you.

What’s so unbearable is that we are prisoners, blindly capable of loving people who are so incapable of loving us back.

Don’t tell me you love me, if you don’t know what the word means, sweetheart.

Is love supposed to make you feel like drowning?

I’ve fallen in love with a boy whose heart is made of the strongest of metals, And whose soul is tightly compacted, in forms of affectionate torture.