love is all we have left

[peoplereallymatter]

The sky opened up and hugged me.

My shaking hands, they accepted, the most stable decision they could make. 

My sore, sore legs found enough strength to get on their tip toes and reach out. 

And my finger tips smiled with the opportunity found to connect. 

But my body, my body. It decomposed reluctantly because it could not stand to fall apart in your presence, it did not see a reason to give up while you still care. My body decomposed only because it was forced to by the earth’s nagging voice and calloused hands, by its inability to make exceptions for those that yearn. Because truly, I will yearn for you long after my muscles and bones fall apart. I decomposed only because I had no other choice, not because I stopped loving you. I would have walked through my darkest night, over and over and over again, if it meant I had the choice to stay. 

[peoplereallymatter]

I’m doing it, I’m doing it, I’m doing it. Finally, finally. 

And I’m proud of myself for it. Because no one gets to dig through my brain and relive this trauma. And no one gets to hug me while I’m dreaming at night. And no one gets to sit in my head and figure out what is ageing me.

     But I’ve let them 

           But I’ve begun to ask them to hold my hands while watching a movie. Asked for a longer hug before bed. Invited them to something I usually wouldn’t. I’ve made decisions. I’ve let them be in control, given them a choice. Admitted what I want, that I want. After having help my tongue in the back of my throat for much too long. Admitted what I feel, and that I feel after having twisted my own arm for years, and years, and years. 

Yet, the sky hasn’t fallen. I’m still breathing, and they are still right there,and this isn’t the end. I am looking forward to tomorrow. Finally. 

-e 

[peoplereallymatter]

And there is always that one moment you hear about. The one in the movies where the boy and the girl lock eyes and lean in, kiss. You always tell yourself that it never actually happens like that. Until you experience it yourself.

I spent hours looking at you. Sitting near you. Observing how you moved. And I kept looking into your eyes wondering when that moment will come. The one where we know that our bodies were created to fit together, that we were formed to share intimate space. But when that moment came, I pretended something else had caught my eye. I looked away, knowing what will happen as soon as I look back at you.

Our mouths clashed, our hands found their way to each other. I could feel the gravity in my body leave. I could feel. Your hands held my waist, my wrists connected to your hip. Your legs relaxed, and tangled on the floor, next to mine. And your mouth, protected me from passing up this moment.

I long for safety.

[peoplereallymatter]

Moments I wish I could bottle up: driving to work, exhausted from a won volleyball game, listening to wasteland baby! By hozier, my hand lazily out of the window and my boujie ass sunglasses on

[peoplereallymatter]

I wish these tears would cause my eyes to swell shut, swell close with exhaustion. I would be able to properly rest then. There would be no cycle full of confusion, and hope for a more restful tomorrow. No wistful thought of break, of complete and utter peace, no constant nagging reminder that I must must must catch up. 

Now. Now. 

                      To Be careful, everyone is running away from you. 

You must catch up. Go. Go. They are all ahead. Every last one of them, leaving you gagging and sputtering on their success.                                  Don’t stay in bed, get up get up.                                                                     The sun is rising, so you must as well.                                                         Rest only comes for the dead. 

If seeing is believing, my eyes swell close and I can finally be happy. 

[peoplereallymatter]

How remarkable ordinary it is that I must sit on the kitchen floor to gain perspective. How I must physically ground myself in order to remember why I wake up and decide to breath. Isn’t it so ordinary to remind yourself to breath? Isn’t it so lame that I must have a reason? Reminders are for people who are forgetful, right? But that could never apply to me, rest assured never once have I forgotten what it feels like to hesitate before talking. To decide to facetime a friend instead of giving into my impulses. Yet, I sit on the kitchen floor. The garage roof. The bedroom floor. Gaining perspective, on what I thought I should have figured out by now. 

[writing-and-nutmeg]

[writing-prompt-s]

I feel called out.

[peoplereallymatter]

In a world where we couldn’t lie, she’d say she loved him. She’d have expressed how often she thought of him, without being scared. She wouldn’t have said “it’s okay” so often. She couldn’t have.  

In a world where we couldn’t lie, they might not have been more than friends. He might have never kissed her that night, or ever taken her to meet his parents. 

In this world, where we couldn’t lie, I wouldn’t have been able to convince myself that you were what I needed. But I did, and I fell despite that.                 

I play that feeling on repeat. 

[peoplereallymatter]

Sitting in the gas station makes me think of all those road trips I took as a child. The sudden stop of the once constant engine, of the persistent vibration. It reminds me of all those times I woke up at 3 a.m, asking my very tired mom where we are. Why we stopped. Sometimes I would just go back to sleep, seeing as everyone else was asleep.

Nostalgia is realizing that now, those stops won’t be made with my family. I won’t keep sleeping. I’ll be the one driving. I’ll be the one worrying about how much money is left on the account for gas. Telling my children that they don’t need Starbucks, that I’m one that’s been driving for 5 hours. It will be them waking up in the early morning and thinking that I don’t see them. But I promise to myself that I will always see them.

It makes me sad, because a quiet engine doesn’t stand for adventure or family anymore. It’s just a reminder that I am growing up.

[peoplereallymatter]

The ice cubes lay adjacent from each other, melting as the girl forgets to put them back where they belong after making her iced coffee. The sun focuses on the kitchen floor, shining through the one, and only, window that doesn’t have curtains. The floors creak, per usual. And the house lays still as it holds the breathing bodies. The tired girl. The over looked mother. The insistent father. And they never stop speaking about finding freedom beyond these fences. But they will never really find that.

[peoplereallymatter]

No one’s ever said that they liked the smell of cigarettes

But He did smoke them in the early mornings when his kids were asleep, and he thought they couldn’t smell them. Except, he failed to recognize that I was always sitting outside the bedroom door trying to protect my sleeping sister from the dark.

The light of the early morning, and the innocence of our church clothes. The harsh dew on the dying grass, and chirp of the new morning. The sharp edge, of the bud, and potent perfume that came off of the cigarette. It all, gave him peace. And I would watch his shoulders relax, his sighing seize. His eyes would drain of their exhaust, and would renew of determination. He would keep walking, for his family.

Now, he doesn’t have to find strength in some addiction. We’ve grown up. My sister doesn’t believe in the dark anymore. The grass isn’t dying. But he will still smoke out of habit. And I’ve never minded the smell.

[peoplereallymatter]

Reminiscing on the times before a deep tired set in my bones, is as addicting as drinking hot tea in the rain. As thrilling as riding a roller coaster for the first time, never truly knowing what you’ll find in the end. As daring as sitting under a tree, favorite book in hand, watching insects reaching for the spine.

Reminiscing on the times before a deep tired set in my bones is rain.

It is   falling,    and falling,   and pounding,   and pounding,   and the only thing keeping me growing and the only thing that kills me when I have too much. 

Remembering the lightness in my bones, the fresh air in my lungs, the blood that felt like it actually belonged in my veins, is rain. 

Coming to the terms that so much air has grown stale because I refuse to take a breath, and knowing that so much weight has become bone because I refuse to move, and my blood, this blood, I refuse to acknowledge unless it is pouring down my thighs, is rain.

It is all rain. It always has been that, but you must see it in the right light.  

[peoplereallymatter]

This is to the people who I wish could have stayed in my life longer,

I will only ever be disappointed by my own expectation, with anything in life. And I knew that when I met you. I’ve known that.

Then, upon meeting you I allowed myself to dream about the future. A future where I was happy, and confident. I allowed myself to expect, to believe, that you would be in my future. Having faith is risky, but it seemed worth it.

So, even when you left, I continued to believed in the things I could not see. Because I could no longer see you.

[peoplereallymatter]

This one is to her. 

This is to the girl that she wants to be. The girl she forgot she was. 

She is the scent of a flower, the perfume that is overlooked. She is the queen who swings her sword the hardest in battle, but prays for her enemies as she holds them. She’s never wanted her cottage destroyed, but she continues to rebuild it. She will, by hand. She is strong without knowing she is. She forgets the lights she creates when she smiles, and the strength that is held in her raven hair. I believe that she has forgotten the strength that comes in the stance she holds, even when she is faltering. 

That, that is, the most upsetting part. She has forgotten. But I know that mountains could be moved with those hands. 

[peoplereallymatter]

Father- They ask me who I am! And I stutter! I hesitate!

They ask me what I am passionate about, and I wilt in the shadows they cast with their huge egos and big hands. They ask. Continuously. Persistently. 

 Who  are you. 

  Who  are  you. 

   Who are  you. 

Who are you? A constant rhythm, like the heartbeat keeping me alive. The beating drummer’s hand. The ax-man's steady swing. 

I’m afraid to tell them that I’m unaware. 

I do not know. I donot know. 

But I will not interrupt their routine, their always chanting. I’m fearful of their chains that will surly drag me through their streets, mocking my falsely-persuading tone. The one that I have learned to use when parading past them. I’m fearful of their faces that I’m guaranteed to memorize. 

Why must it be me who’s ask, Father? I’ve only just begun to realize the truth.  

[peoplereallymatter]

Letting It Be, A Song In Three Verses

1. Somewhere, someone said that it is better to let things be then to let things go. “Letting it go is actively avoiding the subject, letting it be is acknowledging what happened and moving on,” they said. 

2. I’m bad at change. 

3. I’ve only ever distracted myself from change. I refuse to accept the past it seems I could have manipulated, tried harder on. I cannot let it be.  

[peoplereallymatter]

Who let her sail out on her own? Who was the one to turn a blind eye to her distress calls in the middle of the night, and her shaking hands? Does it not seem off putting that she asked to escape as soon as she bored!

You, who let her go, did you forget to remind her that the weather- it’s predicted to be rough. The conditions, they’ve never been ideal. They’ve never been what she expected. You, who has only ever braved the world with those that love, didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth. Did you? Your ignorance isn’t blissful for her, it will only ever lead to her self destruction. It will only ever lead to her, in her rescue boat, never seeing that she can’t save herself. She’ll never have the luxury of living a life alone.