Me too.

The ending happens suddenly

Awakened from the blackout

He leaves and you are left—

Wondering, blaming, maybe even waiting

And him?

Still drunk off the night’s conquest

High fived from his boys for tapping that mess

Surrounded by crowds

While you’re left all alone

Looks of pity or a solid scold

He won.

It’s done.

There’s no use in speaking.

He will move on.

There will be another beginning.

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Catch Up

My love for you will still remain,

Even though it causes so much pain.

It doesn’t die as easily,

Despite how badly we try to kill it.

Putting poison in my viens,

I want you out of my head.

The hardest thing is–

Blackouts were something we shared.

So falling into that despair

Is stained with you.

How do I get away?

Such a fucking shame…

You hurt when you see me?

I hurt. Always.

It’s not a new feeling for me.

This has been manifesting.

Since I first laid eyes on you–

Confusion and contemplation.

You can be mad. Be fucking mad.

I’ve been mad,

So it’s about fucking time you caught up.

Change of heart

I can’t even write about you. That’s when you know it’s bad. When the story I’ve been working on for years, suddenly seems like trash because it’s written about you.

You and your inconsiderate heart, me and my vulnerable soul.

That’s what this story seems to be about.

But, I can’t keep playing the victim. I chose to be broken by you. I searched for someone like you, to release all of the demons I had hiding so deeply within me.

So, I feel like this story may have changed its purpose in my life. No longer am I romanticizing you and our crazy, reckless, inconsistent love. It is a story of a girl and boy who broke each other and could never be the same again.

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.

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.