[empty-meanings]

some days you will feel completely and utterly alone, annoying, and unlovable. as if the entire universe is conspiring against you.

then some days your friend will gift you a souvenir from their trip to argentina, and it’ll smell like oranges. the weather that week will be beautiful. and the world won’t feel nearly as heavy.

— i promise you, you are never unlovable.

[empty-meanings]

haven’t thought about you in a while. i hope you’re good.

i don’t want you in my life , but i hold nothing against you

[empty-meanings]

you yelled at me for the first time in years. and i mean yelled— no screamed. put your face in mine, all red, veins bulging out of your forehead.

for the first time in my life. i wasn’t scared of someone screaming at me. i was angry. no fear, no sadness, no pain. just rage. other than that, i felt nothing.

— im done with this bullshit.

[empty-meanings]

i shouldn’t be this sad this young

[empty-meanings]

i am the sacrifice my parents made and the only proof that their efforts weren’t made in vain is me and the way my bones crack after sitting hunched over a desk studying until my eyes water and my head starts to ache from the lack of sleep because the thought of being a disappointment keeps me up at night and so i’ll pick up my brother and raise my nephew and make up for my sisters mistakes to try and receive half the praise their golden child does but i’ll never ask for it rather i’ll do the laundry and clean the bathrooms without so much as a complaint because what better way to prove myself than by becoming the servient daughter whose childhood was ripped away by the trauma of always having to take care of others without a single second to figure out what she would be if not serving and so i’ll mourn for the lonely little girl who deserved better and she’ll mourn the loss of her innocent mind which once thought to conquer the gods.

— but instead, like atlas, i was condemned to hold up the heavens

[empty-meanings]

I told my best friend about you. I also talked about you to my class friends and my coworkers and my manager and one of my childhood friends. I guess that’s on me for hoping and jinxing it. I mean it wouldn’t have lasted for longer than 3 months anyways. I just- I got so excited. I was wanted. I was worth someone’s time for the first time. But i spoke too soon. Because as it turns out, I’m not worth your time. I’m a joke. I’m only worth something if I am of use. And I am of no use to you. And now I have to go out into the world acting as if nothing happened as if I had never hoped that I would finally be enough for someone to even like.

forever wishing to be anyone but me

forever wishing to be someone who is lovable

— forever wishing I were lovable

[empty-meanings]

i’ve started seeing the wonders of the world again. i’ve begun wishing on stars and falling into daydreams and laughing with the music. my hair a whirlwind around my head as i jump to the beat. arms stretched wide out to accept any and all peaceful, radiant joy. and it leaps into my heart almost as if saying “i’ve been waiting for this just as much as you have.” it was about time i embraced you.

— it was about time i loved you back

[empty-meanings]

you still dream about the people lost in your memory, fabricated by your nostalgia, and romanticized by your broken heart.

— just move on

[empty-meanings]

having me around hasn’t made you happy like you once told me it did. my heart breaks even more every time I’m reminded that I’ve never been enough and will never be enough. it doesn’t break because you don’t love me or because you didn’t want me. it breaks because I’ve never been enough to be wanted or loved. because no one loves me and because no one wants me. and who would?

— please just let me be enough.

[empty-meanings]

I’m still his. I don’t know if I will ever stop being his. I was his long before he knew it. I was his when he told me he loved me and when he meant it and I was his when he would text me good morning and goodnight everyday and I was his when he first saw me and I was his when I first saw him and I think a part of me has always been his. In a past life I was his. And in a new life I will once again be his. Maybe it was written in the stars. Maybe there is a constellation that tells everyone that I am his. Maybe the moon and the sun have always known. The universe knew I was his long before either of us did. I think I will always be his. I wish he would realize that I still am his. Even though I left I am still his. And I wish he could always be mine but I know he will never be mine anymore. He was. But he isn’t mine anymore. And oh. I’m still his.

Im still yours.

— his , but god I wish it had been us; yours and mine

[empty-meanings]

I’m still here! I’ve always been here and I will always be here! I am here! I want to scream to him. I want to reassure him that I haven’t left. I know it seemed like it but I never truly left. But I can’t tell him. He won’t let me. And I don’t deserve to speak to him. He deserves better.

How was I supposed to fall in love with someone who couldn’t even fall in love with life? I want to say. But I’d be lying if I said it. Because I fell and I fell hard. How was I going to be with someone who couldn’t handle my constant changing? I want to explain.

But instead I say,

“Learn to fall in love with life before you say you’re in love with me. Learn to fall in love with art. Learn to be able to look or hear or taste or smell or touch art and see more than just what meets the eye. And I don’t mean art as in paintings and drawings. I mean art. Real art. Fall in love with the way music makes you feel. The way it can make you feel anything and everything yet nothing all at once. The way the lyrics and the instruments mean something different to everyone who hears it. Fall in love with the way a bakery smells when you first walk in. Fall in love with photography and videography. The way someone can take something so simple and give it a thousand meanings. The way 100 people can look at something and feel 100 different things about it. Fall in love with a movie. The way the actors interact and the soundtrack behind it. The way you can see an actor or an actress giving it their all when you look into their eyes. Fall in love with theatre. The way a voice can sound in a big and quiet room. Fall in love with paintings and drawings and sketches and sculptures that someone poured their heart into. The way each and every single piece of a canvas was filled and touched by an artist because no brushstroke is irrelevant. Fall in love with the way a person can gracefully dance across the room as if the floor was made solely for them. The way every fiber of their being yearns to just explode into beauty and raw emotion. Fall in love with a book. And all its characters. With the characters’ quirks and realize that characters are just pieces of an author with a name attached. Fall in love with literature. Its drama and the rush of something new. With poetry and scripts and lyrics and essays and passions and novels and you know what? Fall in love with food. The way that a chef can pour his or her heart into a pan or a pot and fill the stomachs of many. The way a baker can mix feelings and flour into a bowl so delicately and make it into warmth. Fall in love with clothes and style. The fact that what someone wears can say so much and yet not enough about them. Fall in love with the earth and it’s beautiful life. The way the grass looks on a summer morning or the way snow falls in winter or the way the sunlight can make dust look magical or the way sunsets turn everything gold. With the bunnies you sometimes see in your front yard or the squirrels climbing trees or the puppies rolling around in the mud. With the waves crashing onto the shore and the feeling of soft sand in your hands. With the unexplored that can frighten you to the point of loving it endlessly. The way clouds can look heavenly. The way a flower can grow even in adversity. But most importantly, fall in love with people. And I don’t mean the way you fell for me. I mean the passion and determination you see in a person who is going after what they want. The way someone orders a coffee or the fluid everyday movements. The way hair can frame a face or the way a person can move so elegantly so gracefully. The way that same person can be a complete klutz. The way someone can be a walking disaster and still do amazing things. The concentration in someone’s face when working really hard on a project they are proud of. With the way they speak about their passions. With the way they pursue their passions. With their essence and their energy.

God, just fall in love with everything around you before claiming to be in love with me. And trust me, when you do life will be so much prettier. It will feel at ease. It will overwhelm you like nothing else but it will overwhelm you with something beautiful. And when you’re done. I’ll still be here. I always have been and I always will be here.”

— I am here.

[empty-meanings]

Maybe this is God’s way of telling me that as much as I am meant to love others, I’m not meant to be loved.

— I’m not lovable. And I’ve accepted it.

[empty-meanings]

Fuck you. Fuck you for leaving when you knew. Fuck you for choosing him over me after telling me you could never do that. Fuck you for becoming worse than what I thought you would. Fuck you for breaking my friendship with your sister. Fuck you for breaking my little brothers friendship with your younger siblings. Fuck you for not caring enough. Fuck you because you let him insult your sister right in front of you. Fuck you for not listening. Fuck you for letting him talk to me that way. Fuck you for ruining everything. Fuck you for walking away. Fuck you for not being real. Fuck you for becoming your ex bestfriend. Fuck you because you’re a hypocrite. And especially fuck you because even after everything, I know I’d still forgive you. And I’d forgive you because that’s just who I am. Maybe not because I care about you, but because I know God wouldn’t want me to be cruel. Fuck you.

— “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself."

[empty-meanings]

So I saw your sister at the store today. She avoided my gaze. When she did look at me, however, she held pain in her eyes. I decided not to approach her because, well, why would I? Why would I when she looked so frightened to even be near me. As if talking to me would get her in trouble with her family. She was with her friends and trying to act as if nothing was happening, but I know she just couldn’t stand to look at me. I don’t blame her. Why would she even think about me? Especially after what she thinks I did to you. I know she was told lies about me. And I had the opportunity to clear them up and tell her everything I’ve always wanted to. About how just because I’m no longer in your life doesn’t mean I can’t be in hers. About how I’d always be there for her. About how if she were to call me at 3am crying I’d drive to your house to pick her up and take her somewhere more private. I had the opportunity. But I figured that it was better not to clear my name. I’d rather not cause problems between you two. Rather not tell her how her family lies to her. I guess that’s the difference between you and I. I don’t let her hate or think bad about you.

— because I’m better than this

[empty-meanings]

He isn’t mine. He isn’t mine. He isn’t mine. He isn’t mine.

— But fuck I wanted him to be

[empty-meanings]

We carved our initials into our favorite park bench when we were young. You and I both wanted to die and we thought starving ourselves would make us pretty. But we never reassured each other about our insecurities. You went on walks and jogs to lose weight while I went on drives and adventures to forget about my home. Our favorite place to go - that wasn’t a room - was the park, and at the very outskirts of it, was our bench. We chose it because it was away and gave us privacy. Away from the basketball court and the slides and the swings and the wood chips. I still hear the echo of the ball hitting the pavement and the squeal of the swings. I still feel the rubber of the slides getting stuck on the back of my thighs on a summer day, I still feel the burn too. We would walk to our favorite park bench and sit there and talk for what felt like hours but we’re only mere minutes. Because your siblings would then tag along and you hated not being able to have a solid conversation with me. So we would walk back to your home and lock ourselves in your room where your siblings couldn’t bother us. Or should I say you. I never minded them. One day you decided we should engrave our names into our bench and I agreed thinking we would come back one day with kids and tell them all about us and our conversations that took place here. But then something happened. Our bench wasn’t our bench anymore. Now you have a new bench partner. New conversations. New sounds. Now you don’t leave the park because of your siblings, you let your bench partner insult them. Now, at what used to be our bench, I know my initials are probably crossed out and replaced by your new friend’s initials. But that’ll be temporary too. Now, when I drive past that park and past that bench, I don’t flinch, I don’t smile, and I sure as hell don’t even look in that direction. Because I refuse to glance that way and be filled with toxic memories, and I refuse to stoop as low as you and your new bench buddy, and I refuse to waste my time putting you in your place. It’s not my job to be your shield. I won’t take the bullets or the punches or the kicks or the hits or the screaming or the yelling or the lectures or the scolding. I am not obligated to take your punishment for you. So I’ll keep driving without a glance your way. Because the moment I’m about to walk out of hearing range, I know I’ll be able to hear you screaming in pain from the bullet that hit you. And I can’t wait to hear you plea for my help. We carved our initials into our favorite park bench because we thought we’d be forever.

— And yet your screams of pain are your penance to god for what you did to his favored angel

[empty-meanings]

I tried. You didnt. I refuse to take the blame this time.

my first short letter ever sent