Handwritten Pages

I hope to someday become an author and a teacher.

[handwrittenpages]

I know I'm not an easy person to handle, but I'm also the person that will go to the ends of the earth just to see you happy.

Midnight Thoughts #4

[handwrittenpages]

It was my fault this time, no question. I forgot that love isn’t easy, just for a second. I was lulled into a false sense of hope that because I actually found love and it ended well that I would be loved as much the next time. Not that I even felt love, just what I thought was the potential for it. But a young kid too oblivious to know what even he’s feeling could never give me any solace. I should have known it wouldn’t be so easy the next time around. Of course, being with him wasn’t easy. He pressed on my nerves and was stubborn and had trouble communicating. I felt like his mother sometimes. But loving him was so easy. I could see it in the way he looked at me and I could feel it in the way he held me close. He really loved me. And because of that, loving him back was as easy as breathing. To love and be loved back is ultimately the goal. Maybe I’ll find that again one day. I have to hope so. But it was my fault for thinking that it would be easy. I was only thinking about the moment, not the long and painful path that it took to get there the first time. This is just the start of another one of those paths.

Remnants #3

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I just want someone to watch me slowly die. Is that too much to ask?

Midnight Thoughts #3

[handwrittenpages]

I love being in love. There’s no better feeling in the world. I need it in my life; I need someone there to have my back so I don’t have to be in this fight alone. I’ll help them with theirs, too, no question. I’ll jump on the grenade for someone I love without a second thought. What’s the point if I can’t be there for them, too? But what I ask is to have someone to hold onto when the water gets too deep. It’s not all the time that I’m like this. I could’ve sworn I’ve been happy before. But in times like these, I really need someone by my side. Someone to just walk with me and be with me when I don’t particularly want to be with myself. I just need someone to put their hand on my cheek, look me in the eyes, and remind me why I should choose to live. I want someone to tell me that they want me to stay with absolute sincerity, when I’m breaking down from the pressure. I want someone to ask me please not to leave because they would hurt without me. Because they love me. And of course I would stay because I love them, too, and I would do anything for them. All they have to do is ask.

Remnants #2

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Why should you mean anything to me when I mean nothing to you?

Midnight Thoughts #2

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Yes, I'm upset. Of course I'm upset. I bleed out everything to give it to those I love and I can never seem to get it back. I want someone to see me for more that a goddamn drunken second. I want to feel someone feel for me they way I do for them. Just once. Just once I want to be loved back as much as I give. But apparently that's too much to ask.

Midnight Thoughts #1

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Maybe we're the reason it's still raining in May.

[handwrittenpages]

Your favorite color is green, you said. I told you mine was blue. Maybe it was just a coincidence that your eyes were a bright shade of blue and mine a deep green. Maybe it was a coincidence, but in that moment I couldn’t help but think it meant something.

Those blue eyes were part of a long list of new things you showed me. Late nights in unfamiliar parts of town. Sneaking in long after the sun has gone down, so late that I was tempted to ask you in the rare moments between kisses to stay and watch the morning light with me.

I’ve spent so long trying to tear down the remains of what others left behind, I’d almost forgotten what it feels like to build on ground away from shadows. I can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this could end well.

-Remnants, #1

[handwrittenpages]

Why is it that my heart is what's injured, but it's my wrist that's bleeding.

Letters from the Heartbreak #11

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What You Left Me With

I’m left with smiles that don’t reach my eyes. 

I’m left with stained memories and bitter nostalgia.

I’m left with ghosts in every room of this damned house.

I’m left with a hole in my chest that refuses to stop pouring my blood onto the floor.

I’m left with sharp fragments of you and even less of me.

I’m left with the temptation of scars on my wrists.

I’m left with a drawer of your things that will never again bring happy memories.

I’m left with a ghost of you and a shell of me.

-Letters from the Heartbreak #10

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Last night I stole your inhibitions. I think I'll keep them next to your first kiss.

My little black notebook #1

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It's as if when you said goodbye to me, you killed every piece of you that was worth loving.

Letters from the heartbreak #9

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Eyes

Her body might be young, but it’s the eyes that show her real age. Surrounded by pale, taught skin, they hold power within them. They’re weathered, but don’t underestimate their strength. Their glow is demanding, refusing to allow you to ignore the memories and experiences and lessons they hold behind them. You can’t deny the age of those eyes, no matter how young the skin around them may be. Those eyes have seen immense joy and happiness and love. But what are all of those things without pain and suffering and loss.

Those eyes have seen all of that, but some do not see her eyes. They do not acknowledge her eyes and their undeniable age. All they see is her body and its youth. And on those judgments they refuse to credit her emotions. For her body is young, how could she know anything of love, or of loss. To them, her body says she can’t, she isn’t allowed to feel those things.

She is just a child and we must keep these emotions to ourselves; they are too important to let them fall into the hands of the youthful. For we are older and wiser and therefore are entitled to these feelings, and we are entitled to them alone. Because if we aren’t, that would make them just as we are, and then how would we be able to mold them into our image? But it is her eyes. It is her eyes that demand to be seen when her body is being ridiculed. It is her eyes that validate the emotions that she is supposedly too young to feel. It is her eyes that tell others that she is just as much of a person, and that will not be ignored.

It was her eyes that drew me in.

It is what was behind them that kept me there.

[handwrittenpages]

One Month

The hardest part of this last month has not been having no place to go, or not being sure where I stand in the world now that I’m not standing next to you. It hasn’t even been the stares, questions, and apologies from our more distant friends as the news slowly trickles down the grapevine.

It hasn’t been the tightness in my throat that won’t let me eat or drink. It hasn’t even been the throbbing pain in my chest from where you reached in and just tore everything.

No, the hardest has not been any of these things, however hard they have been. The hardest thing out of all of this mess has been wanting nothing more than to be held by strong arms and to be able to break down sobbing into a warm chest covered in a soft shirt, and to be told that it’ll all be okay.

The hardest part is not being able to have the only thing you want.

Letters from the heartbreak #8

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The Physical

I remember your skin against mine the first time. I remember how fast my heart was beating, terrified of this unfamiliar connection and what it could mean.

I remember my lips trailing along your body. I could feel myself surrendering to you completely willingly.

I remember your hands on my hips. I could sense the electricity they sent through my body.

I remember your palm over my mouth, attempting to quiet my moans that I couldn’t help but let slip. I can still recall how it felt to smile under your soft skin.

I remember your fingers on my throat, your thumb resting in the spot beside my jawline, just under my ear. You pressed down slightly because I asked you to, and you seemed to like it, too.

I remember you body, every inch of it, and how you used to encase me in it, make me feel so safe.

I feel so vulnerable now.

Letters from the heartbreak #7

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Pieces

When you enter a relationship, actually enter, regardless of labels, and accept that other person deeply, you give a piece of yourself to the other person. That other person, in turn, gives you a piece of them, both to make room to accept the piece of you and to fill the hole left in you. When the relationship ends and the emotional connection is severed like the string of a marionette, the one that severed it takes back the piece of them they gave you, that you thought was yours to love and care for. But they also keep the piece of you. Now, they may throw it away to replace it with the piece of them, now shifted and molded to the space in you, but they do not give the piece of you back. It wouldn't fit anyway, now warped and altered by them. But it still leaves you with a hole, a hole where first you were, and then they were for so long that you forgot you were ever there in the first place. That spot seemed to always belong to them. Now you need to fill this sudden hole, but it takes time. You need to have patience to grow back into it and fill it with you again, so you can heal the denatured edges that were changed so drastically by their presence there. But you can't fill it with anyone else, at least not right away. Because any new person would be interested in you and not them, so they wouldn't fit in the space that's been shaped personally by another. You must reshape it back to you, and fill the hole with your being. That is how the healing works.

Letters from the heartbreak #6

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This Empty House

This big house feels empty without you. I feel your absence weigh heavy in each detail that screams out the lack of life in these rooms. Each time I pass the front window, I’m reminded of the bed behind it, made and unslept in. The mornings are the hardest. I need to force myself out of bed to keep myself from waiting for you to open my door slowly and wake me with a kiss. I try my best to keep myself from staring at the door in the bathroom mirror as I brush my teeth, expecting you to come in and place your hands on my hips and kiss my cheek. This house holds a ghost without you.

Letters from the heartbreak #5