I don’t know what we are. We’re not friends and we’re not lovers but when you’re looking at me like that and your hands are in my hair, I think maybe, maybe, this is something more. I don’t know what we are. I never knew how to tell the difference between you and you’re and how to tie my shoe laces until I was 13. Maybe that’s why I ended up with bloody knees a lot when I was a kid. But I’m not a kid anymore and my knees are still bloody and my mouth is still slipping out “sorry’s” like water every time my mom catches me stumbling through the door at 2 in the morning drunk and vodka pouring out of my pores like perfume. We aren’t friends and we aren’t lovers but when you’re holding me and my face is in your chest, I swear I feel the world. You’re everywhere. In my chest, in my lungs, in my veins, in the way I drink my morning coffee, every fucking where. So maybe we aren’t lovers, but we’re something and that has to count for something even if you never call me back.

no one:

“You are, and always have been, my dream”

“And I said I would die for you. But that was before I knew That it’s all you wanted me to do.”

She wondered what life would be like if she was born at a different time. A time before him, or a time after him. „What a gift it is to be alive at the same time“, she thought. She would never say these words to him, for she knew they would only be received as a plea for affection, but she would say them to herself because she believed them to be true. He was no longer speaking to her, but he was surely still speaking about her. The two were no longer in love, but now just two strangers in a grocery store. Strangers in separate isles, completely unaware that their former lover was just three rows away. Two strangers with an abundance of beautiful memories. He would continue to search for love in other men and women. She would decide to be alone. But in this moment, as one looked through bruised vegetables, and the other looked for the right brand of buttermilk bread, they both had hope that their soulmate was out there.

“it’s not about being there for me it’s about respecting me enough to tell me why you’re not”

“learning this, understanding my own dark, accepting the trauma, the pain, the constant turmoil of chewing skin down to raw flesh down to bone do you think i wanted it? honey, i had no choice but to embrace the unwelcome.”

“How can I describe my discomfort within my own skin when I’m only comfortable talking vaguely about my mental health? I struggle to express my problems through poetry, but it’s worse in person because I bottle up and never burst.”