Loveletters And Cigarettes

And your last message is better left unread.

Honey, I love you, but not the way I once did.

— Things I just can’t say to you anymore.

A declaration I’m forced to keep to myself.

Some Feelings I’m Forced To Keep To Myself.

Because you ushered in the beginning of the end of something incredibly toxic. Because when I met you in March I realized I actually wanted something different than what I had. I realized that love didn’t make you feel like less than a person. It didn’t hurt or make you sad. It didn’t shove you off and refuse to give you any kind of intimacy. And while maybe I didn’t end up with you what’s certain is that I didn’t marry someone who made me ashamed of my own skin. And for that I thank you.

I was sitting there with my ENTIRE world falling apart and I was crying and crying and then it hit me. And I desperately wanted to cut. I haven't since January 2016. But it was screaming my name last night. And then something crazy happened. Brian from work called. And he just started telling me about his day and his favorite songs and what films he's been into lately. And it was so odd that he called and that's why I answered because I had no idea why he would call. But he completely prevented me from cutting and losing my progress.

-Words I could never say to you out loud.

"I lay here for the first time since you've left. You packed up and headed back to your corner of heaven. Corner of heaven. That's how you described Arkansas to me. Hot but not miserable. Lots of open space and forest and rivers. And zero space for bad things. But to me, The corner of heaven was the way you'd look at me in the patio light after a night of drinking. It was the way you wore your hair. It was the glossiness of your eyes at 1:45. It was the way you told me everything you felt It was the first moment of a different kind of gaze. It was you here in Texas laughing over tacos. It was the way the right side of your mouth would curl up first before you started grinning. And now I lay where you did just three weeks ago. The sheets envelope my skin and my tired bones Wrapping me up in a cocoon of your scent and memories. Knowing you're gone but zero strength to send that text. The text telling you I miss you. The text telling you it's okay. The text telling you to come back to me. Instead I just lay here. Just hoping you'd come back here. But it's miserably hot here in this big city. And you'll find bad things in every corner. And you never were one to be caged. So I'll stare at the moon but I won't scream your name. I'll just look at it and remember your laugh under it. Because you are a self proclaimed lone wolf. You let the wind and moon take you anywhere. And I was nothing more to you than a young fool who got caught in your moonlight path." - Something I would have said had the time been right.

-Reminiscing on the boy from college who desperately wanted to be a film maker

Two years. Two years since you made the conscious decision to take advantage of a 17 year old girl. I don't go in your old store anymore. The people who know just look at me with pity on their eyes and the soar aisle gives me anxiety. I finally told your pal what he really meant to me. Two and a half years of me just wishing that I meant to him a fraction of what he meant to me. But I don't want him now. He knows that. Because see now I have someone who loves me for me. He loves me despite what you did. He loves me despite what dealing with the grief almost made me do. He loves me. He holds me when I wake up from nightmares and honestly, let's just hope he never sees you in person. You are his biggest enemy. And my mothers hate fire burns solely because of you. I told Facebook what you did. I didn't use your name but enough detail so people know exactly who did what. I hope you're fucking miserable. I hope the conversation we had about me attempting to end my life due to your actions hangs over you daily. I hope you look back on how good you had it thinking you were a big man because you "got some" from a 17 year old. Go on. Ask your friends. Ask them what they think of a 43 year old man sleeping with a 17 year old girl that he employed. I'm sure they'll be so proud. For the record, You didn't sleep with a 17 year old girl. It was not a romantic time. You raped me. THAT is your title. Rapist.

gnash

Last night in the dark at 2:18AM I came clean to him about what you did. It's closing in on two years and I can still feel your fingers running over my skin. Your face comes back to me in nightmares often and it's hard for me to go back to my hometown. But what happened when I told him wasn't quite what I expected. He was angry with you. Very angry. I told him everything. Even about how I wanted to just end my life. I could see a small amount of shock on his face, even in the dark. But then he hugged me. And he told me he understood. And told me of his own struggles. Then said words I could have only hoped I'd hear from him someday. "You're my whole world. You're my girl." Then he hugged me and told me I'd never have to be sad alone again. So I guess what I'm saying is look out because I'm taking my fucking life back from your grip.