excerpt from a book i’ll never write #35

I burn my mouth and lungs with puffs of nicotine and I realized it feels too good to burn myself alive because darling, we were a perfect match but matches were meant to burn.


excerpt from a book i’ll never write #34

We must have one love, one great love; it gives us an excuse for all the moments we are filled with despair.

excerpt from a book i’ll never write #28

It was only one night, but his hands running down her back and his lips on her neck seem to be a broken record in her head. It’s not that she misses his smell or the spark of his skin on hers; she craves touch. Any touch. She craves the touch of his arm on hers or their fingers laced. She misses the touch of his breath on her ear as he whispers sweet nothings. But a “he” is just that, and any he will do, and it’s one thing to be alone but another to be lonely. It’s 1:05 in the morning and she’s drunk but he’s the only one on her mind. And him, and him too. Her head spins and her ears are ringing with the words she should have screamed aloud a long time ago, but the worst thing about falling to pieces is that humans do it so quietly. No one hears her heart crack or the soft patter of dripping blood on new, white sheets, and no one can hear her mismatched breaths as she tries to find someone a little better than him. She’s lying in her bed, in her house, and all she wants to do is go home.

excerpt from a book i’ll never write #26

And with those eyes, you could have set the sky on fire, but you chose to burn me instead; together we burned.

excerpt from a book i’ll never write #18

Two people who were once very close can, without blame or grand betrayal, become strangers. Perhaps this is the saddest thing in the world. 

But maybe not; love is a lot like math. I think it’s really sad that parallel lines can be like people, travelling side by side, with almost everything in common, but never touching. But it’s also sad that any other pair of lines intersect once, and never meet ever again; that can be a lot like people too.

Then we have parabolas; sometimes they meet once for a moment, or they can meet twice. Either way, only moments are spent between the two. 

Soulmates are kind of like hyperboles; a line meeting the origin for the first time, and forever getting closer and closer. But that’s sad, too, because they also never meet quite right. 

I think the weirdest thing is having leftover information about someone. Like, I still know someone’s favorite girl’s name, or his favorite season, or her favorite ice cream flavors. I know his favorite song to sing when he is upset, or his favorite guitar chord. I know her favorite childhood book, and the mental disorders her uncle had. I remember the ages and birthdays of his siblings. I remember the song he said he’d sing to their spouse. Where do I put this down? Where do I learn to forget? Where do I learn the people can be like lines, meeting once and never again? Or never really meeting at all?