Things I Wish I Was Better @ Writing About

I don’t want to teach another person how to love me, I don’t want to have to explain everything you make me, me to another person. I don’t want to have to teach everything you already know to someone else and hope they understand the way you do.

I don’t want to try to find someone to replace you, because that’s all they’d be for me, a replacement for my greatest love.

All the songs, they’re all still about you.

I couldn’t tell her “i love you” because those words are still yours. I can’t tell him i miss him, because it’s you that I miss, not him.

When my mind is trying to tear itself apart, I don’t want him to comfort me. It’s you I want. In any form.

It’s been six months since I walked away, and it’s just been six months of me missing you, it’s been six months of me realizing how stupid I was, it’s been six months of wishing you were still mine,

We were on the phone, you in your house and me in mine. I’d fallen asleep, but you never hang up when I do, in case I wake up frantic and need you. I made a soft noise and that told you I was awake again, and immediately it came from somewhere in the static, your voice. “You okay, babygirl?”

I mumbled something about not being able to sleep but you told me to try anyway, telling me “you need your rest, beautiful.” and my heart swooned as you cooed the words, in a tone so soft I don’t think your friends even knew you were capable of. Then you tell me, “I’ll be here if you need me, I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s what everyone says..” My voice is so meek from the sleepiness and mixed with a dash of sadness, and I think I almost heard your heart break at the sound.

I know it well, I have plenty of things in my life that I’ve done that I regret. But none of them could stand against how I feel when I think of leaving you.

If I could, I'd go back to that day and shake myself by the shoulders at the very thought in that shower that led to you moving back to Arizona, and my living at my moms house. If I could, I'd tell you how stupid I am, and how much I hurt when I think of you. I did a lot of regrettable things growing up and still, I regret nothing more than telling you I wasn't happy anymore and we'd be better apart.

I tried for a while to put your ring away. To put all thoughts of you away. But I can't. And now I'm still wearing your ring on that finger and even though I have a "girlfriend" right now, I'd give everything to hold your hand, and kiss your face. Your shoulders. Your hands. I'd give everything to kiss you.

Out of everyone I've ever dated, you're the one I'm so sorry I let get away. You're the one I'm so sorry I pushed you away.

I told my mom I missed you, and she said she could tell. She also said that I probably only missed when it was good, when we were good, but truth be told. I miss it all, because even when it was bad -or just less than good- it was still you.

My heart has felt hollow since you left.

Since I left.

               “Sometimes I think I miss someone, but I realize that I miss who they used to be, not who they are now. And I think that’s what breaks my heart more than anything else.”

               She tells me this while we sit in her car, looking over the expanse of the city, watching the lights sparkle across the distance of the valley. I almost resent how much I can relate to her statement. How many times had I clung to someone because I loved who they once were, who they still were in my mind, regardless of how they proved the opposite time and time again? More times than I’d care to admit.

               We leave the car and walk around the empty park hand in hand, breathing life into the past. Something I’d become too good at. She speaks of many nights she’d spent in this very park, drunk, and having the time of her life with strangers. And I wonder quietly about the many nights I’d done the same with my own strangers. I think quietly to myself about the man I’d just recently left because I’d realized I was in love who he once was, years ago, instead of who he was presently.

you looked at me like i was the moon, surrounded by an ocean of sparkling stars, and i was the prettiest thing you’d ever seen.

i miss date nights, and talking about where we as humans sat in the grand scheme of things that made up the universe.

i miss when you wanted to go places, even if it was just a hike, or a tiny park we’d never been to. i miss when we sat in your old car and listened to music and talked up the sun came up.

i miss when you called me little miss lady, fuck i miss that name so much..

i miss when i felt that you actually adored me and it wasn’t just everything i did wrong.

i miss when you couldnt get enough of me, and you wanted to do everything with me.

i miss when you would talk about how much you wanted to marry me, and what our babies would look like..

i miss when you were the last one to pull away when we cuddled, or kissed, or held hands.

I’ve been considering getting back into writing for Tumblr. For people who don’t know me, and if they do, they leave what they read to themselves and I never need to worry about eventually seeing it anywhere else. Been told to anyone else. I don’t worry about screenshots. I don’t worry about whispers.

The thing with writing for Tumblr, the thing with writing for my online diary of things that don’t matter after a couple months, is that it’s a difficult thing to stick with. Writing.

I used to write all the time, about everything, pages and pages. But now its hard to find something worth writing about. Finding something that I won’t regret writing about lately. But that’s also the issue. I was always told to write what I know. Write about the things that happen to me. Maybe that’s why I could never get very far with fiction.

At the same time, the only things I know well enough to write about constantly are pain and heartbreak.

How I hurt myself by getting close to someone I should have kept at arms length.

How someone else got hurt because I thought I could follow my feelings without consequence.

How I still feed my temptations, and I wonder if I’m more like my father than I could ever know.

Why anyone ever thought I was worth the effort.

I’ve been away for a while, living, breathing, and learning.

I’m coming back soon, with plenty to post about.

Dealing with heartache is a strange thing, in hindsight. I’m a soul who’s heart gets broken a lot. I open up quickly, I get attached a little quicker, I begin to trust way sooner than I should. I know these things. I’m self-aware of all the ways in which I allow someone to break my heart. 

But you see - the thing is... I always expect a different ending. 

Someone staying, someone loving me more than I tricked myself into loving them, someone being absolutely terrified of losing me and it not just being words. 

I always think the next one will be the one that changes things. The next one will be the one that stays. The next one will be the one who’s words and actions are the same. The next one will think my eyes are the size of the moon, and they genuinely think they could see the stars in them. 

Some could say this almost never ending hope of finding love, and while learning from past heart aches, never being completely scared of the next relationship could be a flaw. Some could say I’m in love with the idea of being in love. 

My mother says I’m naive, too trusting, and still don’t really understand the way the world works. But that is not the case. I see how it works, I see that it is cruel more times than it is kind. I’m not trusting, trusting someone takes a long time once I’ve begun to see someone’s soul, less time if I see that their soul is genuine. Being hopeful in the face of constant mistake and let downs... I would not call that being naive. 

A response to the claim “you always think the worst of me”.

Dear you, 

It’s not just you, it’s most people. But at present, it’s mostly you. To be completely honest, you scare me. But not in the ways men before you have scared me. I’m not worried you’ll hit me. I’m not scared of what my friends and family would do if they heard I spent another night in the E.R after an argument with you. I’m scared of you for reasons that most broken women are scared of nice men.

Scared of what you’re capable of, scared of happiness being shown for the first time in a long time and then it being taken away. I learned a long time ago not to trust people outside of my family - because they were always the only people not to leave.

I don’t want you to leave, and that scares me. Because getting attached to another person means giving them every means to hurt me and hoping -no,praying- that they won’t. And to be totally honest, I don’t think you would. But I’ve been hurt so many times before that I don’t know how to expect good things. I don’t know what to do when good things happen to me.

You make me want to be a better person, the woman I am around you is the me I used to be before I was hurt over and over again. And believe me when I say that me is stupid about you.

I’m trying - so please be patient with me.

Me: Writing pointless bullshit.

Him: do something about us

Like what? I guess I could write about what it feels like to kiss you. Or what happens to my mind when you call me princess - which by my count has been almost 10 times now. I could write about how much I like watching you. When I’m sitting on the couch or at the counter and you’re talking to your grandma. The way the words form on your lips. Those lips. Maybe I could write about how every time I put on Chapstick, you immediately want another kiss. Kissing you. I’m back to that again... You know what that static on a TV when you change to a channel that isn’t really a channel? Yeah, that what kissing you does to my head. Or more-so, you kissing me. My lips, my face, forehead, hands, any place your lips can reach at the moment. I love it, but I never tell you that, I don’t think I need to.

I know that you know. There’s this chuckle you do when you know I’ve forgotten what I was talking about because you kissed me.

Would it be weird to say ‘holding your hand feels like home’ because we haven’t been together for very long at all? Well I’ll say it anyway - because I’m weird.

I suppose I could write about your eyes. Gorgeous blue-green and ever-changing. I could write about how I could stare them in pictures but seeing them in person makes me nervous. Dizzy. But I adore them so much anyway. They light up when you smile, did you know that?

October 12th, 2017

I was okay for a while, but it's back. The feeling of drowning even though the biggest body of water I'm closest to is the bathtub that's never actually full, so then maybe the sink when the dishes have piled up - but that never happens either. The feeling of never quite being able to get enough oxygen into my lungs. The feeling of always choking back tears that never come anymore. But your eyes still burn like they're there, throat's still tight like you've been crying into your pillow all night.

                                                                                                       April 9th, 2017

I really hope one day you realize just how much I loved you. I hope one day when you’re lonely and hurting, you think of me and say “She really did love me, she didn’t deserve what I did to her.” I hope it hits you like a ton of bricks, I hope it hits you so hard you lose your breath. I hope one day when you think about your childhood and your first love, it hurts you when my face comes to mind. I hope one day you realize everything.

                                                 And on that day,