Please don’t be a season

Please don’t be a season.

Don’t be a fallen leaf in Autumn that slowly dies as it hits the pavement.

Don’t be the touch of snow on skin that quickly melts away in Winter.

Don’t be the rainbow after rain, hiding behind clouds of grey in Spring.

Don’t be warm beach days, fresh green grass and bright sunny rays that pass by as quickly as time does in the Summer.

You’re not allowed to come in and out of my life like the weather.

I want you for years to come.

I want you like the comfort of sitting down after every long day, knowing it’s a luxury whether on the floor or a coushioned chair.

I want you like the tattoo on the bottom of my neck, wearing out from too much sun exposure, but always holding meaning within my skin.

I want you like the memories written in books passed down for generations– causing stories to be diluted, but still partaking in history.

I want you like all of my body, maybe growing weaker as I get older, but always remaining, always trying, still working after so much vulnerability.

You are not just a season to me, you are a year. A year full of life, memories, sunshine, rainy days, snow fall and golden brown leaves on the ground.

Please don’t just be another season.

Time to move on

Last night when I saw you I was pretty happy. I knew I looked great and could sense your gaze on me at least for a moment. At least I knew you saw me, but then when our paths crossed again you pretended as if I wasn’t even there. You didn’t even look my way. You didn’t say hi or sorry. Maybe it’s my own fault for expecting that, but it hurt. I felt my heart drop slightly as you walked right by me and left the club. My heart dropped because there was a small part of me that still held onto the idea that maybe there was still a chance for us. When you walked by me I knew that it was over. I should’ve already knew but my overpowering imagination refuses to back down despite my rational mind telling it to. I imagined the night to go differently. That was my own fault. I told myself that if you didn’t say anything that I’d finally let myself let you go. That one part of me was hoping that wouldn’t happen, but I also knew it needed to. It’s been too long. I’ve been holding on to something that’s not even real. Last night you showed me that. I’m grateful and now I can finally move on.

Only human

I realized what he meant, by feeling as if you’re a ghost in that environment. The music was blaring, the heat heavy and the crowd growing. You become so consumed by the addicting noise streaming through your ears and the weightless atmosphere brought on by multiple drinks that you become completely unrecognizable–not only to others, but to yourself. At least, that’s how it seemed when I glanced over at him that night. His head banging to the bass of the music and feet sliding back and forth to the rhythm. I smiled slightly, only because he looked so content at his ability to escape.

A group of girls stood next to him looking at him in curiosity, but he had no recognition of them at all. His eyes were completely empty, his face expressionless. He had become a ghost. And then he even disappeared like one, running off into the crowd. I stood on my toes, trying to catch sight of his hat in the sea of people, but couldn’t find him.

“What the fuck?” I looked over at my friend, who simply shrugged, unamused with the disappearing act. He focused his attention back to the stage and continued dancing. I tried. I tried hard to just focus on the music, to fucking disappear myself, but I felt everything. I felt my heart dropping and shoulders shrinking. I felt any movement of dancing that I attempted was useless and utterly vacant. A paranormal figure wouldn’t feel as much as I did in that moment. I sure as hell knew he wasn’t feeling the way I did.

He disappeared, and I stayed so clearly visible. Both my friends and the crowd sensing every movement, every turn of my head as I looked around for him. The mood between us collapsed completely, unable to be rebuilt by the vodka running through my veins or the music pouring out of the speakers surrounding us. This was one thing that music couldn’t possibly fix, because I knew it wasn’t going to be a good night and once you get that into your head it’s impossible to escape it. Once that feeling becomes conscious, there’s no way of preparing some sort of Houdini act to get rid of it.

So, we left early without a trace of him and headed towards the hotel room. My heart was thumping so loud it could’ve burst out of my chest at any moment. The thing was, I knew something bad was going to happen. I felt it deep down in the pit of my stomach that remained uneasy ever since getting in the front seat of his car the first time he took me out. I had this hideous feeling that he was going to end up hurting me. Yet, I still sat next to him in that seat comfortably. I laid in his bed willingly, opened up to him hesitantly and handed over my heart reluctantly. I thought that even though he may hurt me, I was strong enough to take on whatever he could throw at me. But, when I saw him laying down next to another girl, his arms wrapped around her tightly in the hotel bed, I knew I was wrong to ever feel that comfortable. I knew I was wrong to ever get into that fucking car of his.

You may feel like a ghost–like you are untouchable, empty, hollow and unseen, but you’re not. You’re human and you are seen. You’re false words are heard, brief touch is felt and guilty acts are watched. The loud music, chaotic crowd and double shots of whiskey don’t cover up shit.

 

Love will find you

The beautiful thing about it is that it happens unexpectedly. A fire that was only a single burning flame inside you will suddenly ignite and heat up your insides like an oven. Consuming you to the point of confusion. You didn’t want it. You weren’t searching for it. That’s when it is the most worthwhile, because that’s when you know it’s real.

There’s no forcing small talk or judging appearances. It happens when you watch someone sip their coffee across the table from you and you suddenly wonder why you’re so intrigued by it. It happens when they speak and you’re suddenly more attentive than you are with others. It happens when you lay awake in the middle of the night because they come to mind.

Love is a feeling. Imagine the feeling of anger you get after an argument or when you’re suddenly depressed by a bad grade. It’s something that is completely out of our control. We don’t expect our emotions to come and go when they do, they have a mind of their own. So does love.

It’ll find you when you’re working an eight hour shift or taking yourself out for breakfast. It’ll find you when your out for a girls night. It’ll find you when you’re reading silently on your favorite bench at a park. Creeping up on you like a rumble in your stomach when you forget to eat all day.

So, don’t fret about finding love. You can swipe through every match on your tinder app or fawn over every pretty face that walks into the same room, but that will not be how you find love. You can’t possibly find love this way, because it finds you.

Cravings

I crave you. Around me, inside me, all over me. If I were to see you, it’d be all over for me. All over like the clothes we would tear off of one another and throw onto the floor.

You can take me. I’d gladly let you. It feels good to lose control to someone like you. Dark, reckless, angry and insensitive. Because I don’t need someone to care about me. I don’t need to be caressed and held dearly like a small kitten.

I’m not small or weak or fragile. I admire those who tip toe around me as if I am. I see pity in their eyes. I see constant worry as if my bones will shatter with the slightest flick on the wrist. They somehow see innocence, as if fawning over a newborn before being introduced to sin.

Maybe I like the darkness I see in you, because I feel it thriving inside myself and it’s desperate to take over. Then those other eyes watch me. Don’t lose your kindness. Don’t lose your soft, gentle touch— when all I want to do is tightly grip the strands of hair on your head to pull you closer.

Right now I’m not thinking about love. Love is innocent. Love is beautiful. Love is balanced. It’s a mutual feeling between two individuals that develops to comfort, respect and loyalty. I don’t want that.

What I feel so desperate for is passion. The most passion I’ve felt was during times of darkness. Maybe that’s my problem. My greatest, most heavy weighted feelings have been initiated by moments of running from cops, kissing taken men, tasting blood as it dropped down from a broken nose and sneaking back into my bedroom’s window only to spot my mother standing at the door way.

I was reckless and I loved it. I see that in others and it’s as if I can feel my own pupils dilate. The blackness of them expanding greater to spread over the light blue in my eyes.

I see it in you. That’s why I crave your lips on mine. I want to remember what that feels like. I want to remember what it feels like to not give a shit. I want to remember what it feels like to be seen as raw, brutal, bad and threatening. The same way I saw you when looking into those empty eyes.

Why is it that the bad is so damn inticing? Maybe some of us just have a more difficult time escaping it than others. All I know is this–people like you make it hard for me.

 

Learning To Say No

As a young girl, I was quiet and needy. I never really asked for what I wanted from others, so I would simply take whatever I was given and accepted that. I think this can be the same for other girls and women. Many of us were raised in a way where obedience is rewarded and acting out or “unladylike” is frowned upon. Princesses were always so passive, laying down on their beds as they awaited a prince to come. Little did we know that not every man that comes into our bedrooms are princes, nor do they desire a happily ever after.

We don’t know this, so it’s easy to get caught up in the desire for a prince and accept whoever it is that comes our way. As long as they’re fairly attractive and have a good head on their shoulders, why not give them an opportunity? Although, I’ve come to realize that many of these men want one thing and one thing only. They want a sexual relationship. They want to get in your pants. They want you laying in a bed, awaiting them. I guess you can’t really blame them. If girls constantly allow them to do this, then whats stopping them from continuing to pursue? If they keep getting the answer “yes” than how will they ever know otherwise?

I think it’s up to us women to show a man what it’s like to wait. When I’ve told a man no, he suddenly praised me and acted as if I was a rare being. You know how weird that made me feel? Is that really so rare to find? Maybe it was his choice in women, but still. I fail to understand how so many women can just say yes right away, giving into the desire to give a man what he needs. Honestly, I haven’t found much satisfaction in the couple of hookups I’ve had in my life. The only time I felt purely satisfied while having sex was with someone I loved. It was passionate, mind blowing, chaotic, beautiful sex that I will never forget. One time hook ups don’t even compare and that’s why I’ve decided they are unnecessary in my life. I can’t see how it could pleasure me.

It’s not that I think all women should feel the same way, but I just want to understand how someone can feel otherwise? Is it really that fun to wake up in your bed with a stranger next to you? After giving them your body to do as they please and than leave soon after, never to talk again? I just don’t get it.

I’m in love with deep conversations, not how deep you can fit in me. I’m in love with dinner dates, not “Netflix and chilling”. I’m in love with how you can carry yourself in a public setting, not how smoothly you can seduce a woman privately. At least, that’s how I feel at the beginning of a relationship. The latter is so much more enticing when you’ve already developed that strong bond.

I’m tired of saying “no”, but that doesn’t mean I’ll change my mind. I’ll simply find a partner who will ask me once and simply drop it afterwards, or maybe one that doesn’t even ask at all. At least, not until the time is right. This hook up culture just isn’t for me. I’m over it.

Freckles

I hardly remember what you look like anymore.

Isn’t that strange? How you can be around someone, be in love with them, be their best friend for six years and after only a few months you can’t seem to remember where your favorite freckle was on their face.

Shit, I see something now. Your fair skinned back, the broad width of your shoulders covered in them. Freckles. That’s all I see. You hated them, remember? I loved them. Every spot on you. Even your blemishes looked like tiny little masterpieces to me, or just components of the masterpiece that was you. Built with freckles, stubbornness, honesty and a huge heart. If someone needed the tools to create you, those would be them. I can’t forget that smile either and that one darkened tooth. The one that almost got knocked out by your best friend after he mistakenly hit you in a fight. The one I always stared at and laughed to myself about, thinking how stupid your friends were– thinking how stupid we all were.

Me and you both. We were pretty stupid huh? I say that as I think about your name tattooed on the lower part of my stomach, now covered with flowers. You can still see your name though. I don’t try to hide it any more. I tell people. “It’s my ex-boyfriend’s name” and for some reason I’m not ashamed anymore.

It is a part of me, just as you were. Just as you still are. Although it’s a part that only remains in my memories, in my heart, my soul and not in my physical reality– you still exist. You always will. The name on my stomach doesn’t mean shit compared to the scars you had left on my insides. The heart breaks you put me through and the ones that I put you through. Those will last longer than my skin. I will be buried, decomposing into the dirt. My flesh, blood and skin decaying into nothingness and still the memory of you will be lifted with my spirit, flowing in the wind.

I won’t remember your face. I may not remember how your hands feel against my skin anymore or the smell of your cologne. I do remember, however, the feelings you gave me. I remember how your presence felt. If I see you in another lifetime, with a different face and hair and attitude and clothes and gender and reality, I will still feel you. Just as I had the first time I saw you in this life.

Your freckles may fade baby, but you never will.