Continued Perplexities

I feel like I’ve been writing poems about you my whole life

I cannot sleep Because I know that you cannot sleep when you are angry with yourself. Because I know that you've been crying I cannot sleep because it almost feels like you are angry with me, even though I know you are not I cannot sleep because it feels like I've been crying Because my pain is your pain and your hurt is mine to calm and your wounds appear as cuts on my body too

this morning at 3:30 AM I heard "I'm gonna make you my queen" and it was whispered and quiet but I slept very well after that

Sometimes I wonder if you're ever come to this page or if you even follow it anymore . I don't care to check. If you do I wonder if you see the little things I post about you from time to time. I wonder if you know they're about you. I wonder if you're reading this and going "is this about me?" Maybe. I wonder if you've seen my spite and heartbreak and rage and sadness spill out in tiny sentences. Just enough to get the feeling out in that moment, then stuffing the rest back down. I hope you look at this page. I hope you read my words. Because the spite is subsiding and the heartbreak is mending and the rage is gone and the sadness is dull now. I hope you come here. So that when the little words I write begin to be full of joy again you will see it. So when I'm so in love again I can't handle it, you will know. So when someone else makes me feel as loved and perfect and warm as he will, you'll think to yourself "she is actually happy". And I will be. And you will be a memory.

I'm worried that my heart is already too full of someone who doesn't want me and that soon you'll realize that and there won't be anything I can do to make more room for you.

I thought about death and his cooling touch as the needle crept from 55 to 60 65 to 70 on a Michigan back road underneath a blood red moon for a moment I was neither here nor there, but I was traveling and I was flying and I couldn't bear to slow I knew he was waiting for me

in another universe I was born and raised in NYC and I know the subway system better than you do in another universe the grass is light blue and sky is a hundred shades of green, changing as the deep purple sun lowers in another universe you like to drink coffee and we meet for one once a week to talk and smile and enjoy our favorite porch at our favorite cafe in another universe we do not have to meet for coffee because we wake up and drink it together every morning, two cream, one sugar in another universe, I am a famous actress and you hang my poster on your bedroom wall and think about what it would be like to meet me in another universe I am going to bed early as you stay up late to write and I wonder, maybe, if you're writing about me because in this universe I'm writing about you

There are people coming in and out of my life very quickly nowadays. I'm going on dates and seeing new men and admittedly I am having fun. I'm enjoying myself. But every now and then the sunlight floods into the living room in the right way. But every now and then I see your smile in a stranger's. But every now and then I feel warm and clean and quiet and you're filling my brain to the brim. But every now and then I think of car horns and crowded streets and a city I've only seen on TV and I wonder what it would be like to hold your hand. This feeling isn't going away any time soon.

I hoped, so foolishly that this time it would be different that I was legitimately surprised when it was not. I miss you and I hate myself for it.