I'll Never Be The Same (No. 10)

My boy loves me.

My boy loves me.

I'm sorry I keep talking about it.  I just feel like if I stop, I won't ever figure it out.

He loves me, he does.

I guess I resign to never seeing that side of life.  I resign to all those things we shoved aside.  The ones we put in the dresser drawer at night, saying we'd bring them out again when the time is right.  Then he locked it tight and put the key in the medicine cabinet.  Right where I'd never see it.

My boy…

He told me small lies and grand truths and I called that love.  He gave me reality and cynicism and I called that chivalry.  He threw everything I knew into a jar and shook it up and when I got it back, I couldn't tell the difference between heaven and the word "up."  I put my hands on the floor and walked on the ceiling and claimed I was just doing what I was supposed to do.

He loves me.

I got tired of saying it.  Of reminding myself.  It became the only thing I knew to be true.

He loves me.  My boy, he loves me.

After the river incident of June 2013, I was worse than ever.  I was trying to erase imprints of his thumbs on my forearms.  I was trying to sever the ties he had roped around my ankles.  I had cowered in his shadow for so long that I was afraid of my own.  I was expecting 6 more weeks of winter.  Turtlenecks, tights, and gloves in 90 degree weather.

He hated himself, he hated what he thought about, and he despised what he became.  He left little notes on the floor, and cleaned out my bedroom closet, and never once questioned the things I had collected over the years.  He made me breakfast.  The eggs were cold.  But the bacon was perfect.

The eggs were cold, but the bacon was perfect.  The days were fine, but the evenings were fragile.  The parties were long, but the walks home were lonely.  And I'll never forget the day he left drunk and I had to carry his shoes.  He never asked me once what I believed in.  He always assumed that I would leave him.  He was right to worry.  He was wrong to believe it.  No, I was too afraid.

My boy.  

I have no doubt.  

My boy will always love me.

Existentialism (No. 9)

(I like this video way too much.

If you watch the whole thing:

marry me?)

_______________________________

Here lies a hiccup, a hunger, a love.  

I wanted to do something that deserves to be talked about.  Because I'm a bad sister and a bad lover and a bad student and writing was the only thing I thought would redeem me.  It's my last plea for guidance, my last second chance.

I'm afraid that my lack of a past is a sign that I don't really exist.  My mind is plagued by snapshot images of nights in front of the television and folding laundry with my mom.  Movies and car rides and sunset colored walks through trees.  The haunted playhouse and Hilary Duff.  I'm afraid that I made it all up.  Because I can't hear anyone, and I can't remember what they look like.  I can't see more than 5 seconds.  I can't find what I should have never forgotten.

I'm afraid that you'll tell me the truth about everything, and I won't be me anymore.  I'm afraid of waking up one day and looking 60 years old and not knowing how I got there.  Not knowing why I can't run as fast as I used to and why I never had any kids.  

I'm afraid that you'll forget all about me, like I have forgotten you.  So easily.  So shamelessly.  

I think that even if I do end up with my handprints in the sidewalk, I'll still feel this way.  No matter how many vague metaphors I make or how many songs I listen to.  Even if I do end up making that movie about the girl who doesn't fall in love in the end.  Even if I do end up giving that acceptance speech.  I'm not ever going to move on.  I'm not ever going to be satisfied.

What I'm trying to say is that I wanted to be fixed.  I wanted to be able to get up and out and not stress about making small talk.  I wanted to make you laugh.  And I wanted to exist.  

But I guess writing is better than existing.

You get to pretend to exist.  

All About Gardening (This Is Not About Gardening)

"Sometimes I feel like something is missing, like my backpack or a shoe, then I realize my spirit is just hungry.  So I pray, and I feel better." 

--Haley, an 8 year old.

I used to sit with her on my lap, and I'd tell her about July and the way it feels when someone wants to ride the tilt-a-whirl with you.  I'd tell her it's strange, but also the best feeling.

She used to ask me about high school and what boys think of girls who wear braids.  She used to tell me that my stories made her want to grow up.  And that being a kid wasn't as fun as being ready.

If I could look Haley in the eyes and say one thing to her right now, I'd say that you'll never really be ready.

I wish I could tell you what it's like to leave.  But I can't.  It's a strange mixture of hope and relentless fear, a distorted beauty, a fractured expectation.  It's lonely, but also endlessly crowded, and there are people who will want you to fail.  And people who will want you to succeed.  And people who really just don't care about any of it.  There are no bedtimes and no dietary restrictions.  There are no punishments.  And no rewards.  You feel twelve, you look 20, and you act like both.  You have to make your own phone calls to the DMV and you don't have to go to the dentist anymore.  Except you probably have like, four cavities that need to be taken care of.

I used to be just like Haley.  I used to think I'd only be happy when I grew up.  But now I know that the only time I ever was happy was when I was a kid.  I'm torn between wanting change and feeling nostalgic for my past.  

Because I know things will never be the same.  

And I'll never be able to put my head on my mom's lap and tell her that I've never loved before, and that it sounds wonderful.  I'll never be able to undo what's been done.  But I know that somewhere out in the world there's a little eight year old girl wondering about love and beauty, and not hesitating to pray.  She's smarter than me, and bigger in heart.  

And I know that not all is lost.

The Truth About Me

This one is different.  Because it's late, and I can't sleep, and I'm afraid if I do, I'll forget the way I feel right now, in this moment, when my shoulders hurt and my head is heavy.

I really should be asleep right now.  I've got to wake up in 5 hours for church, and I can't afford to not listen anymore.  I'm trying this new thing where I'm good at church.  So far, there have been no immediate results.  

I have to say some things I cannot say out loud.  Please don't think of me as cheap.  I am not looking for pity or justification.  I really just want to sleep.

1. My first memory is of me telling a lie.  It was the beginning of the nasty habit I still have today.

2. My older sister is the reason I am the way I am.  I didn't want to be like her.  I wanted to be better.  I wanted to not be made fun of.  She's the reason I do not speak.  She's the reason I am insecure.  But she's also the reason I've always loved God. 

3. I've learned some things about my father that I cannot say.  Just know that my heart weeps for him, and because of him.  He is equal parts magnificent and broken.  And I just don't know what to think anymore.

4. The day we lost our house was the day I figured out that some things are better off lost.  And what you want most is the thing you will never know.

5. My life of moving has not made me an outgoing person--it's done quite the opposite.  I can no longer connect to people. 

6. My roommate is unhappy because I'm not enough.

7. I once was a good writer.  I'm not anymore.

8. The people I thought would never leave or forget me have done just that.  And even though I'm used to the feeling, it still sucks.  Being familiar with something is not the same as being okay with it. 

9. I'm pretty sure the reason I can't remember a lot of my childhood is because my mind blocked most of it out.  The reason for this is something only my past knows.   

10. The boy I thought would save me instead broke me down.  And he left a scar on my leg to prove it.

11. I am overly sentimental because nothing in my life is permanent.  Except the disappointment.

12. I will someday be very rich, because I can't stand the fact that my mom wakes up every morning at 4:30 to answer phones.  

13. A part of me will always wait for him.

14. I think I'm losing my mind.

(Pictures from Donald Glover's Instagram)

The Letter I Threw Away

My dearest,

Something exciting ends today.  

The rocks and the salt and the sea and the fresh air end today.

Snow's falling down pretty quick now, and the fishermen are drawing their nets in.  I wonder where you're going for the holidays.

Something really upsetting starts today, and I can only imagine the worst.  These days were once my grace, so now I'm wondering where the mercy went.  

I'll meet you there someday,
Where the sea meets the sun.  

When the guns and the bible don't mean anything to no one. 

My dearest, something terrible will happen today, and I just wish you were here to see it.

Here's Too Forgetting

                                          

I fell for a boy and it was the worst thing I could have done. 

He brushed my hair and then let me down easy, and I think that’s when I knew that I was just like all the other girls.  I was just another misunderstanding.

We were perfect strangers with an incomplete love, yet I still marvel at how we fit together like sprockets and gears.

But someone else was cranking that wheel that made it all burn, someone else was watching and waiting and wondering how it would all work out in the end.  And I’m here to say that it didn’t, because I still see teeth marks on the glass cups in the dining room.  I still hear the ground move. 

And every day I spray the windows and I scrub the already clean dishes, and think about when he used to take my hands and study the bends and lines in them like he was about to take a test. 

I needed you more than you allowed.  Were you even upset at all?  Do you ever think about the tap dancing lessons or the bottom of the sink after you spilled the champagne?  Do you ever listen to that song we both hate, and think about how it’s not as bad when you’re alone?

I do.

And I think that if you gave me the chance, I’d let you take me to Denver.  I’d let you ask me about the scar on my leg, and this time I’d tell you the truth.  

The Blame's On Me

He was interested, and that's why I let him hold me.

Yesterday I spent most of the day running away from lunch tables and leaving fingerprints everywhere.  She told me to smile.  I told her I was.  She told me to smile harder.  

Well, I guess this is it.  This is where we forget the color of each other's eyes.  This is where you stop clinging to my elbow, and telling me that the woman across from us looks just like that girl from Saved By The Bell.  This is where I throw away that one sock you spilled grape juice on.  This is where you and I become you.  And I.

Now, we're those two people that occasionally like each other's Facebook statuses.

And I want to know why he keeps putting his arm around me, like I'm his childhood stuffed in a dress.  Why does he tell me his secrets and his strengths, like I'm not counting down the steps until we reach my front porch.  Like the curls on my head are bouncing just for him.

I want to know why you've left me with nothing but a violin and an empty jar.  I want to know how you could look me in the eyes and forgive me for being rash, forgive me for letting you down, and then tell me that five states is not enough space.

I'll give you five states, in fact, I'll give you the globe.  I'll give you as much as it takes to stop seeing that girl from Saved By The Bell on street corners and in coffee shops.  To stop seeing my own miserable migraine induced delusions plastered across the sides of all the buses in New York City.  I'm tired of that sound my bed makes when it feels the weight of just me.  

It's just me.

And I know I shouldn't still believe in plus signs and ampersands.  And I shouldn't wait around for the train to arrive.  

But your reasons for taking my picture down are all too familiar.

So that's my cue to leave.