excerpt from a book i’ll never write #7

Text Messages I Never Sent

My eyes are burning with tears but I wish my throat was burning with the taste of cheap liquor. Maybe it would hurt less than this. 2.21.16 01:16

I had such a bad dream last night and I wish that you were here there to help me. 2.26.16 07:13

I’m crying and freaking out and all I ever wanted was you. I only want you. I hope you’re doing okay. 2.29.16 22:47

It’s snowing really hard right now and I keep looking at it and thinking that it’s beautiful just like you, and it shines like your smile and I guess I’m just seeing you in everything because there is always something that reminds me of you. 3.1.16 13:23

I love you. Don’t let the bed bugs bite. 3.4.16 00:31

I wish you still loved me. 3.20.16 19:55

I fucked up, I fucked up. You’re gone, you’re gone, you’re gone. 4.18.16 13:26

God I hate you. 4.24.16 20:24

No, I don’t. 4.24.16 20:32

I’m craving your every touch. Please come back to me. 5.1.16 15:55

You don’t say I love you anymore. It’s not okay, but it’s fine. I’m not okay, but I’m fine. I’m not okay. I need you. I don’t need you. I need you. I’m leaving, I’m staying, I’m leaving, I need you. Please don’t go, please don’t push me away. I want you forever; I want to marry you. Please just leave me alone, don’t go. I want to rip my skin apart but you say it doesn’t solve anything but trying to talk to you doesn’t solve anything either because you’re so sick of me. I’m sick of me. I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Please don’t go. I’m surrounded by people, but God I’m so alone. 5.3.16 23:09

At times I thought I would die because I missed you so much. 5.6.16 19:21

I feel like I’m drowning. I’m drowning. I want to drown. 5.6.16 23:09

I saw you in my sleep and I kissed you and kissed you like I couldn’t fucking breathe. I woke up alone, and you weren’t mine to keep. 5.13.16 05:46

I think I’m okay. 5.26.16 23:27

No I’m not. 5.26.16 23:32

I know I need to move on but you’re the only person I want right now and that doesn’t help me at all. 6.10.16 01:33

My heart still aches for you but I know it shouldn’t. 6.23.16 07:14

I spent so much time with you loving me that I never learned how to love myself. Fuck you for that. 6.27.16 00:30

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. 6.27.16 00:42

I never knew what people meant by saying home is where your heart is, but I haven’t held you for months and I’m homesick. 6.28.16 01:18

I just got home and I’m no longer thinking of you. I’m a hypocrite. 7.15.16 03:58

He’s super nice to me. You never were. 7.22.16 21:48

I have another boyfriend. It hurts because I feel like I can’t give him my all. Because you took it away. It sucks because no matter what I do I always compare him to you, and he always wins. And all he wants to do is make me happy. You never did. I still want to make you happy. 8.9.16 09:13

I just left his house and he said he would love me forever and I tried remembering when you said that to me but I can no longer remember the sound of your voice or the smell of your skin and I can’t tell if I am nostalgic or just damn straight miss you. I hope it’s the former. Fuck you. 9.5.16 01:14

It’s almost your birthday. I miss your mom, I miss the s’mores. I miss putting post-it notes around your room. I don’t miss you. 9.28.16 21:50

You never annoyed me like he did. I could listen to you talk forever. 10.11.16 22:52

Part of me wishes that someday you’ll come around. I know you never will. Maybe 5 or 10 years from now we will run into each other. Maybe right now just wasn’t the right time. Maybe we can start somewhere new. Maybe. I hope not. 10.20.16 00:29

excerpt from a book i’ll never write #6

My chest is tight and my demons are tying ropes around my lungs and I have broken all my pairs of scissors and knives trying to save you instead. I wish I could use the shards of my heart to sever these suffocating restraints, but I placed them in your hands on that lovely night and you never gave them back.

excerpt from a book i’ll never write #4

No matter what, I think we hide our most vulnerable and genuine parts, and we keep them to ourselves in fear that someone will know the real us, the full us; the us that really makes us, us. I think that’s the worst thing humans do to themselves. They hide, well, we hide. We refuse to see what was right in front of us the entire time. We choose to ignore.

We ignore the fact that at either 18, or 45, the person that did everything for us will forever hold that special place. Whether it be answering all our texts right away, showing us they care, or being the island of sanity in a sea of lunacy. It is these people, the ones that will do anything, that are the real people.

I want you to keep me there, in that special place, because I know for a fact that I’ll always be that person to you. I didn’t love you the way lovers do, no, I loved you as a person. I loved what I saw; you could fulfill, and I saw you in colors on my days my world was spinning in black.

I didn’t love you in the way that I wanted you to be mine; I loved you with every piece of my soul. I think that’s the difference between loving someone because they’re your boyfriend or because they are your entire world; I could live the rest of my life without you, but deep down we both know some people are connected by memories and by their past. People might even be connected by little red strings: one string tied to my heart and the other tied to yours, and sometimes they get a little tangled and frayed. But the strings never break, and one day I will follow the end of mine and you will follow the end of yours and we will wind up with the only string left making up the sheets that lie above us as we cuddle for warmth when the heat runs out.

No matter how much alcohol gets poured into these veins, or intoxicating substances burned down our lungs, we don’t forget. Maybe we don’t want to. I wonder if one day, when you’re older and the world is a little less hectic, if you will wake up and look in the mirror and realize it was me; it was me the whole time, and you were just too young, too dumb, and too scared to admit it. I’ll spend the rest of my nights wondering if we fall asleep under the same stars and if you sometimes breathe a little heavier because you wish you followed that string to my heart. I wonder if when you see pretty things, my face finds its way to show up behind your eyelids, and a soft smile slithers on your face like chocolate slipping down our chins after our first date. It is you who I want near on my bad days and you I want even closer on the good days; maybe someday you will learn to love me the way I loved you.

excerpt from a book i’ll never write #3

He loves to talk, but not all the time. He tells me that talking doesn’t mean anything unless it’s worth ruining perfect silence. Most people, he says, waste their breath on everything that means nothing. But he likes when I talk; about the people in the coffee shop, and old cities I wish I’d been to, and which constellations I like best. We talk until the sun rises, and then we sleep all day. We sing till our hoarse voices are reflected in our giggles from screaming to our favorite songs on the radio. He never complains about my songs. We let our hands drift from the open windows like soaring hawks, flying to new destinations. And we live. God, we live, like addicts, and nomads, and kids with wicked minds and screaming hearts. Half the time we don’t know what day it is, but we don’t care. Caring is for the stressed. Because his bed feels the same on Monday and Thursday and Saturday, too. And we eat when our stomachs grow too loud, and we press close when we can’t pay the electricity bill, breathing into each other’s necks. And we learn that sometimes what is perfect and what is enough live oceans away from each other.

But when enough becomes too little and we don’t even have our own two pennies to rub together, he performs on the street with an upturned hat at his feet. Old, bluesy songs about wild girls and townie boys, strummed to perfection. And even though his voice is only okay, with cracks in all the important parts, people see his long hair and his big smile, and they stop and watch with saucers. Look, they point, a boy who never learned how to worry playing at maturity, his face bent over a guitar, long fingers threading the strings. They stand on the streets, a cigarette break from their white collar routine, and see in him some other life; some different path. They see themselves, a little happier, a little louder, a little more carefree. The kind ones with him well as dollar bills float from their hands, just like their hands floating from the car windows years past. Fives and tens and twenties form those who would do everything different if they had another shot; from those who wish they were singing next to him. One man with a fading ring tan below his left knuckle gives him a crisp hundred-dollar bill, his face lost in thoughts of what might have been. Someone jumps in with the lyrics. Laughter is everywhere. He’s like that with people: prying them open without even trying. He sees through them, and you, and even me. Especially me.

We lay in bed that night surrounded by paper that will only pay a fraction of our bills, but we laugh like we’ve won the goddamn lottery. We laugh so hard we can barely breathe. I laugh until I cry, and he holds me in his hands and tells me that when he has the money, he’ll buy me a ring and make this whole shindig official. He’ll strum his blues down the aisle. My voice raw with tears, I tell him he better.

And he has the warmest hands, with callouses on all the fingertips, which I don’t think anyone else knows. Not like I know. The don’t feel them against their palm and cheek and thigh in the middle of the night. I like the ridge on the top of his thumbnail. I like that I hold a million tiny fragments of him that no one else has even touched. Like he calls his sister twice a week to make sure she’s not using again, and he only watches scary movies because they make his blood flow faster, and he’s an all-consuming, thousand-watt, stars in his eyes kind of person. The kind people want to be around without ever knowing why. The kind who tells you he loves you and really means it; captivating. He only says it sometimes. When it’s just us two and the perfect silence is worth being broken. And I trace road maps across the skin of his back, and I wonder. I wonder what I did to deserve all this. The affection, and the easy smiles, and the list of kid names we like tucked away in his desk drawer, shuffled between coins and nicotine gum. I never fall asleep before him because I don’t know how to stop thinking. I wonder and I wonder and I wonder how I ever thought I’d be better off on my own. He pulls me closer, and whispers my name like a promise. All the world stands still for just this moment. And I wonder how a person – one single, broken person – can come along and fix everything.

excerpt from a book i’ll never write #2

He giggles as he lays on the floor, cigarette in his mouth. “Damn, things could have been so different, you and me.” He smiles and rolls over, picks himself up. “We could have owned the world.” He laughed harder, shaking his head. He was the one who taught me we always need to laugh in the end. We are so accustomed to the world that we lose the strange habit of having faith in life.

​His cigarette ash hit the ground and he closed his eyes, with that wry smile on his face like he always had when he was thinking of something funny.

​I will own the world, but it will be without you.

excerpt from a book i’ll never write #1

She beamed a delighted look and I told her, “your smile is contagious.” Her eyes searched mine for a moment before she looked at the ground with her heavy, brown saucers and lips that dripped with lies and I asked her where her pretty, little grin went. 

 She told me, “I hope no one feels the way that I do because I’m a box of dashed hopes and despair painted in sunshine yellow.”