I want to be somebody’s number one. I want to have that one person I can guarantee will always be there for me, will always rub my scalp when I’m sick and tickle my back, will shack up with me during a natural disaster, will carry me through glass (metaphorically speaking, of course) whenever I’m feeling depressed and don’t want to get out of bed. There’ll be no worry if I’m going to brave things alone. I’ll have a teammate, a partner to cushion the blow.
I’m beginning to see the point of having a relationship. More and more, it seems like their purpose is not to necessarily provide you with love but to keep you far away from hate. As you get older, life begins to show you its true colors and sometimes those colors look like shit. That’s why it’s important to have someone by your side who always reminds you of beauty. No matter how dreary things get, you’re never far away from seeing something exquisite.
You start to feel your soul wither if you don’t have love around you. It’s a subtle decay but it’s there. People have so much of it to give and if they aren’t given an outlet, it becomes locked inside of you and suffocates the heart. You need a release. You need to put this love away somewhere. I can feel it aging me, making me bitter. Please someone take it from me. Quick.
I want to go to a party with someone I love and know that we’re going to go home together at the end of the night with our limbs stretched out in the backseat of some cab. We’d nod off with the streetlights reflecting on the window and wake up when we arrived home — the place we share together. The place where we cast spells with our love and cook dinner together and build forts in the living room and listen to music and drink too much wine and fall into bed with contentment. Yes, that’d be a nice place to go home to.
I’m not the young ripe thing I once was and I’m beginning to understand that this world was not meant to be experienced alone. Someday I won’t have my looks, someday I will get sick, someday I will die, and I just hope that I can leave this world knowing that I made someone’s heart go pitter-patter. I changed someone’s life, I was their “in case of emergency” contact. I was the person they thought of when they went to bed and the first person they thought to call in the morning. I want to know that I was loved by someone so passionately, that I shook them to their core and made them happy to be alive.
Someone will have noticed me.
don’t mind if I do…
There were people who went to sleep last night, poor and rich and white and black, but they will never wake again.
And those dead folks would give anything at all for just five minutes of this weather or ten minutes of plowing.
So you watch yourself about complaining.
What you’re supposed to do when you don’t like a thing is change it. If you can’t change it, change the way you think about it.
if only you could see yourself now,
you’re settling back into a quiet autumn
and you’ve missed the smell of must, rain, and tobacco
kissed into the corners and couches
of the same house you share with seven others.
you miss the girl who used to sleep on your couch
who had the skull of the bird she is named after
tattooed across her arm.
you are glad you stopped drinking.
it’s 2am and you’re staying up far too late.
you have an interview for a job in the morning
that you will come to hate in 2 months.
you’re not in love the way you expected.
some memories turned into broken drawers
that you chose to store all your knives in,
every time you open them, they always come spilling out towards you.
you miss having sex with people you also love.
precariousness is now the pillow you sleep upon,
and you no longer have such structured repeating romance.
you no longer have such a structured repeating life,
and I know it killed you that you knew it wasn’t forever.
i know i can’t stop you from panicking,
but it will all make sense.
you repeat repeat repeat repeat repeat repeat
until you realized it was too early to build such a life based on repetition.
you’re settling back into a quiet autumn,
and you’re stone sober at 4am after a Friday night
while the world starts to makes a strange kind of sense,
the same way words become meaningless when repeated enough times.
all of this
is to say,
you made it this far,
and i’m proud of you.