It goes like this: he holds you like a question mark and you never wonder why. Lanky limbs and cold coffee, but when he presses you close, you forget to ask where he goes in the middle of the night. No promises, he says, and you think thatās sweet.Ā Because maybe the world is cruel and some prettier girl broke his heart. Or maybe he justĀ doesnāt care. Whispered, half way past the moon, an I love you followed only by breathing. And even though you know heās awake, you learn how to pretend. It goes like this: he doesnāt come back one day. He grows out his hair and starts smoking on the patio of someone else who believes in mending brokenĀ pieces. Your mother says sheĀ toldĀ you so, and your friends pour tequila down your throat like some kind ofĀ consultation prize. They tell you heās a fool, and you let them think you agree. And you tear, and you crash, and you crave, but you survive. At night, you whisper this into your pillow, and begin to remember that he smelled like secrets and women and somehow, you confused this with hope. It goes like this: he holds her like a lifeline and youĀ begin to wonder why. But chicken legs and frigid waters, you always knew you werenāt enough. And when you forget how to pretend, curled like a childĀ under the covers of a bed that is suddenly bigger than all the world, youāll learn how to forgive yourself or maybe just how to hate yourself, but at least youāre beginning to understand yourself. Let me tell you Ā a story I wish Iād known. It goes like this: we break our own damn hearts.
(via yourhandwrittenletter)
