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Swallowed Stone

I found an old message from a few years back

I made a silly little dinner tonight, french bread pizza

I don’t know why I thought of you

The message was about a dream you had and it describes our break up

Our break up is still one of the most raw and beautiful moments I’ve ever experienced. I read this old message again just now and I cried hysterically for a few minutes.

And then I started writing this.

I miss writing you. I miss you writing me.

I wonder if we would ever be friends again.

Remember when you had a dream we went to a baseball game? I wish I could find that dream description. I am sure it is somewhere here on the internet.

I have been cooking a lot this past year

and every time I clean up along the way I think of you. Very quietly, I think of you

I still think about okra in my eggs

Remember when I made those squash tartlets? The dough was so dry and stiff.

Remember when you made soufflé? That was so fluffy and soft.

That apartment was so hot and miserable in the summer

and so cold in the winter.

I still cringe about our trip to South Carolina

or the time I got so drunk and so mad and threw a shoe at you and almost drove home.

I have been thinking a lot about regrettable moments in my past relationships.

I don’t even know what I was mad about. Probably just mad at myself.

I have been casually listening to Hank Williams,

“Hey good lookin’, whatcha got cookin’?

How’s about cookin’ somethin’ up with me?”

Sometimes I look down and remember how you called my stomach Loppy

I remember the time we went to the grocery store and you kept lifting your shirt and slapping your belly. It’s really funny to think back about, but I know I would still be just as embarrassed now

I wonder if you ever look back and cringe about something you did or said

I mostly remember all the kind and generous parts of you

Do you remember when we very first started dating, or maybe we weren’t even dating yet, but I cut your hair on your friend’s balcony? And we kissed a lot when you walked me back to my truck?

Remember when you met me downtown for lunch after I had jury duty and then you had the Miranda July book mailed to my house?

I don’t think I ever met anyone as thoughtful and selfless as you.

But you drove me crazy when you wanted to argue for the sake of arguing. I was never a fan of arguing

But I never minded winning an argument. Honestly, if I was going to find myself in argument, I had to win.

I try really hard to be better about that, but I still struggle.

I remember the night you cooked and I bartended my sister’s murder mystery dinner and we stayed up late talking about everything that had happened since we broke up. I remember getting in bed next to each other and how good it felt not to touch and to think we could be friends still. But, then we never stayed in touch. Maybe we were never supposed to be friends.

Just fond memories and manuscripts.

My therapist told me to write a letter of gratitude to someone and this isn’t the letter, but I am sure it would be a very nice letter if I wrote it to you.

Any ways, I miss you, and not I want to get back together, but I miss you, and I wish we could be friends again.

exercicedestyle

All the things I know

If everything I knew was a love letter from you I would know nothing at all

timbllr

via weheartit

thepowergame-deactivated2015091

wnq-writers

I fell for her apparent beauty, thinking maybe she’ll fall in love with who I am on the inside. I didn’t care, even though I knew, how she always dressed to have people stepping over her sharp edges.

sineofpi (via wnq-writers)

lifeinpoetry

I myself am half-hell and half-morning.

Hannah Cohen, from “Self-Portrait as Grendel,” published in Calamus Journal (via lifeinpoetry)

vomitingwords

I do have my own sense of right and wrong, but sometimes I came to the point where my heart feels something which my mind disagrees with. And I choose even if it’s the last thing I wanted to do.

ma.c.a // Fighting the Waves (via vomitingwords)