h.s.

twenty alexandria, virginia —> st andrews, scotland

[scribblingb1tch]

she wasn’t sure if it was the song or the vodka or the fact that she was in love, but the tears started pouring from her eyes. she hated herself, really she did. there was nothing more humiliating than being in love, but also nothing as wonderful. she relished in her sadness— she was alive, she was alive, she is alive. she wanted to sob it from the small window that looked upon the stairs in the basement of her sixteen bedroom building. no one would bat an eye, she was sure.

[scribblingb1tch]

i used to think that laying on the grass with my face towards the sky, i’d see different versions of myself dancing in the fractured light through the canopy of the trees. maybe if i closed my eyes, a particular shape would light up the darkness behind my eyelids and i could become the right version of me for just a moment.

[scribblingb1tch]

despite my desire to blend in, i couldn't help but want to be noticed. i wanted people to stare at me— whether in a good or a bad way. i wanted to be a scientific anomaly, like something that had fallen out of the sky and ended up in someone's backyard. one day someone would come up to me in the baking aisle and ask me– slightly out of breath and wholly bewildered– where did you come from? i'd have to come up with an answer.

[scribblingb1tch]

i wasn't afraid of him, but i was painfully aware of the fact that, no matter how poorly i had been treated, my heart would sputter and pick up loving him with complete ease, like a natural contraction unconsciously done of muscle memory.

[scribblingb1tch]

sometimes i think i’m not destined for a romantic partnership and that the real loves of my life are the three friends i made at fourteen

[scribblingb1tch]

 when i was fifteen i met a boy. you know this story. you’ve heard it a million times, and yet you’ll still wait to see what happens, even though you already know it ends. you know that i haven’t heard from him in years and that he absolutely despises me, but still the love was there, and that has to count for something. we weren’t star-crossed. there was no single tragedy that prevented us from making it. our greatest enemy was our age— the ultimate torpedo that fashioned us a sinking missile— a failure to recognize the gravity of our situation and the lack of maturity that comes with being sixteen and in love. when i was fifteen i met a boy— nothing special— just warm brown eyes and an intimidating height and a bad attitude that set him apart from the nice guy archetype i always imagined myself ending up with. it began, as most things do at that age, with nerves and summoning the courage to approach one another. but if there’s one thing i remember it was watching him from behind the curtain while he performed in the school play. i immediately thought, here this person is. i don’t even know who he is yet, but i know that once i figure it out i’m never going to forget. it was as if this voice in my head just decided, that’s the one you’re gonna go for. and despite my better judgement and childhood fear of falling in love, i decided to listen to that voice. and here i am, three years later, and i still think about him from time to time, mostly with fondness, and sometimes with hatred.

[scribblingb1tch]

my relationship with God is like hearing wonderful stories about a teacher whose classes i never took

[scribblingb1tch]

just ate an orange & my fingers smell like the rind but the sunshine has returned to my cheeks & i think i believe in magic again

[scribblingb1tch]

i should hope that, when death finally does come for me, i won't be afraid. it'll be my best friend's car in the driveway. i'll get up from my hospital bed willingly, and go wherever she takes me.