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i smoked a cigarette before you came to see me. i tried to wait, because i know you hate the taste of ash, but there was so much space inside to fill and you weren't fast enough. darling, i wish we could see ourselves the way we see each other. i wish this feeling didn't end the moment you stopped touching me. i wish i could write about myself in capital letters and believe i deserved the extra space. maybe in the next lifetime. maybe this next cigarette.
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do stupid, fucked up things with your youth. everything looks beautiful when you’re young. you can’t be 31 and chainsmoking on your balcony, wondering how you’re going to fake your way through another day.
i didn’t have a contingency plan for getting old. i wasn’t supposed to live that long.
We make up our own ends to things. The way I'll watch a movie all the way through only once, And then every time after that only to a certain point: The moment before everything goes wrong. Dreaming a new ending where the soldiers never come, Where the wolf is still alive, And the wife still believes he's going to work every morning, Coming home with a new cologne. The way he says it's like reading your poems: I love them until I remember they're about me.
The way I keep writing poems about him To slip paper cuts under his fingernails. I make up a happy ending for the movie in my head But I don't write it down. I only write down the shitty parts. I only write down the wounds he's licked over with apologies but never shut, The skin that parted under the sharpness of his indifference, Or indecision – those are antonyms, he says, but they taste the same. I only write down the cuts on my arms where I opened veins For the blood to write this down.
We make up endings to stories where we're the heroes, Where we said just the right thing instead of only thinking it, Retelling like winding cotton candy— It gets bigger with every turn
I'm still alive, I still believe you when we say goodbye. I make up an end to the story but I don't write it down:
I turn the movie off, The soldiers don’t come, I am not the wolf and this is not my blood.
There are times when we are absolutely nowhere.
Sam Seaborn
today, the sky just wouldn't happen. today, I was blind sided. neither pain, nor its powdered absence.
olena kalytiak davis, a few words for the visitor in the parlor
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the syntax of things
important life lessons: falling in love with your best friend is pretty crap, but being best friends with the person you love is brilliant.
you should bury more than the dead. you should try harder. you should give up.
olena kalytiak davis, the scaffolding inside
"When I saw you sitting there in the ER, you looked like death. White as the moon, hollow eyes, stuck with needles and hooked up to a dozen different machines. The hospital gown said 'Angelica' all over it. You were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen."
-excerpt from a letter from a girl who once loved me
