lethe

you have no idea what kind of lucky you are if you fall asleep with the person you love in your bed and not just in your head.

i’d say it’s water under the bridge, but the river’s been frozen for too long now.

fuck. i’m so fucked.

my fingers scratch the back of my throat, like a prison cell so desperate to escape. trying to find an exit where there is no freedom. one can’t exist without the other; I cannot exist without this. it’s too late for my heavy thinking, too late at night for my bruise knuckles and teary eyes and infamous stream of sink water drowning out the noise that come out uncontrollably. goddamn I’m alone. it’s easy to ignore this fact when I’m forty minutes away, but now at the root of it all, I’m forced to sit with this. I’m alone, but I don’t want to let anyone in. it’s easy when no one is trying to get in, when there is no one waiting by the door, ready for me to open it. there hasn’t been anyone at my doorstep for awhile. he let himself in and ruined too much; I added extra locks after I kicked him out. maybe I’ll forever be the haunted house on the left, the one everyone is too afraid to enter, or pass by, or approach. they all warned him to stay away from me. beware. at first I ...

my hands are itching to be anywhere but down my throat. I want your arms around me, my hands drawing circles over yours with the delicate trace of my fingertips. instead I hug the countertop as fingernails claw the back of my throat.

how beautiful it is to fall asleep excited to awake the next day.

vivid dreams aren't good, but at least they aren't nightmares. a foreign parking lot, a familiar trailer, cold air brushing my skin, the warmth of a building the second I step foot in it. a stretch of hallway reminiscent of an Italian street, so many people surrounding the tables but if you wander far enough, you find one that's empty. two girls with short lilac and violet waves, and long navy, teal tresses. perhaps the quality of the dream didn't lie in the detail, but in the cast.

I'm here. I'm always here. I still don't know whether that's good or bad.

I don't want to blame everything on his sickness. There are so many other reasons why I've been such a messy disaster the past three months. But it's the only thing I think about, other than her.

I go to bed each night not knowing what time I'll wake up. Some nights I hope the answer is never.

there comes a day in your life when you wake up on December 25th and Christmas is just a regular day. because that is the time where you realize the things you really fucking want can’t be put on a shopping list, they can’t be bought, they are worth so much more than money. oh how I long for the day where I can actually have what I want so badly to ask for.

I love that we don’t know how to communicate thoughts and feelings. Instead we just write about them and pretend the other doesn’t see. “Do you regret it?” I regret all of them. If I could bleach my brain of the memories or wipe them from three years of painful existence, I would.  Every single one of them. I can’t believe I’m saying that, but I would. I am so angry. Maybe I’ll always be. Why am I so angry? I know why, but it’s too long to write. We wouldn’t talk about it anyway.

my heart has revolving doors and perhaps I should've shown her the way out the second she stumbled in; my heart has revolving doors and he never made it in, instead, he just went around and around and around before I finally let the door hit him on his way out; my heart has revolving doors and sometimes she stands there, contemplating entering, before she rushes down the street again; my heart has revolving doors and sometimes it malfunctions and won't allow anyone inside no matter how badly I want them; my heart has revolving doors and I wish I could slam them shut; my heart has revolving doors and I want to lock them and never let anyone inside my chambers; my heart has revolving doors and I need a better security system; my heart has revolving doors and goddamn, I wish it didn't.

The holidays are coming. and I don’t want them to. I don’t want to sit around an overcrowded table where the c-word is passed around as casually as the salad bowl that circulates. I thought I learned to accept this, I thought I was living with this, but I really wasn’t living with this until I stepped my foot in the door with all of my bags, ready to buckle down and call this house “home” for a month. Here the c-word is the harsh reality, evident in the calendar marked up with doctor’s appointments, the medications that have turned the dining table into a drugstore, and the year-long supply of both chocolate and vanilla Ensure taking up the entirety of the fridge. Popping in here every week was nothing compared to moving back and I now laugh at all of my panic attacks I had while sitting in my driveway, bracing myself to walk right into a story I didn’t want to be written. It’s one of those things that you genuinely think will never happen to you, until it does, and then you’re stu...

I don't want you like a best friend. I want you in the way it feels when your arm slithers around my waist whenever we lie in a bed that is not my own-- simultaneously the least harmful and most poisonous serpent. You're soft with me, but with others, your armor is too thick to warrant any kind of vulnerability-- with me, you strip it off, at first you did so with hesitation, but now you do so with ease and a tiny bit of liquid courage. You really are my person, you couldn't have said it any better, those few words still burn holes through me every time I touch that piece of paper. I know there's nothing there hiding in the caverns of your vacant heart, probably nothing, most likely nothing, there's no way there could be anything-- yet I still secretly hope I'll be proven wrong, that your feelings will surprise you just as much as they'd surprise me. I still have some kind of fleeting hope that you'll wander into your heart to find a brilliant crystal mi...

I've been doing an excessive amount of thinking about this past year (mainly about how much it sucked), and have been considering what I want out of the new year to ensure it won't be as horrible. Granted, I always come up with shitty resolutions and seldom follow through with all of them, but I figured it's worth a shot for this year. Also, I just really love making lists.  So, I present to you an incomplete list of 2018 resolutions, courtesy of my overly present anxiety and inspired by my many, many, many  mistakes and flat-out bad choices of 2017. 1. Write more (at least 5 times a week-- every day, even better!) 2. Start researching publishing companies/agencies + begin submitting writing for publication 3. Take more photos (not just of sunsets, either, I want specific exploration in pursuit of good photography) 4. Take some breaks from social media (it's not that important anyway, fam) 5. Have more adventures (even if it's just going to Weis at 4 AM...

I have always been attaching the word "home" to places without any permanence, constantly affixing myself to any location I possibly could.  as a little girl I threw temper tantrums while leaving hotels simply because I loved that specific place so much, I fell in love over the course of a week and I didn't want to go.  at the age of sixteen "home" to me was being wrapped up in my bed after school in the arms of a girl with glittery gem eyes and mermaid waves. This was my lesson in associating "home" with a person because I was homeless after two months and I swore I'd never again feel at home with another beating heart. now at nineteen "home" for most of the year is a single shoebox room shared with another person, a room with one side belonging to me, and friends living just down the hall, completely in my reach; a little community of strangers placed together by chance and chance alone. This is my home, few and far between.  the...

dried knuckles and damaged purple hair. I slept straight through the day, not a stir, not a word, just dreams upon dreams upon dreams. my heart is somewhere south now. softened skin beneath silky shorts, bare and beautiful and raw. my heart is miles away. two relationships within the past twelve months-- neither could amount to anything. I want a new one. one that's safe and secure and comforting and homey and loving and caring and touching and feeling and real. the past two relationships have been none of those things. my heart yearns to be connected to someone who won't abandon it. my heart wants to be with someone who won't dismiss me or take advantage of me. there's been so many revelations over the last couple of days. I deserve more. I want more. I did my best these past two times and what happened to me was not my fault. not my fault. not asking for it. not my fault . this is the start of a revolution, of a radical idea that I deserve more love ...

thirteen hours of sleep, and yet you've been on my mind the entire time.

your heart is in here somewhere. come find it. but only if you want it back.

there are promises as empty as the winter trees on the mountain. there is a huge heart inside me as frigid as the icy snow, there is a fireplace nearby, but I can't sit by it without being burned. there is distance between you and me, and I am dying to be set free. there is a fire deep inside me and I am afraid it will burn the whole forest down. there is a homesickness for a temporary place. there are so many things in my life, but none of them could keep me warm.

if you asked me to describe myself I'd say I'm blank pages and black ink staining lined paper. I'd say I'm rose gold dripping down a mechanical, iron heart. I'd say I'm a heart that continues to grow despite the fact that I'm a full-grown adult. I'd say I'm a hurricane through the sunshine, a constant contradiction. I'd say I'm a Cheshire cat smiling in the middle of a dark forest filled with nightmares. I'd say I'm a book sitting on a shelf, completely untouched. I'd say I'm failed relationships and too many apologies. I'd say I'm ripped notebook pages. I'd say I'm a fragile glass cup with far too many fingerprints, forever unclean, always touched, yet never broken. I'd say I'm an alarm clock set for 2 PM on a Saturday. I'd say I'm a heart with sharp teeth, constantly hungry and never satisfied. I'd say I'm everything and nothing, all at once.

a month from now I'll be coming back to this place. I'll be unpacking my car and moving back into my second home after a month of homesickness. I'll come back to my white walls dented and damaged and absorbed with secrets shared during 2 AM study sessions. I'll come back with peachy hair and a vibrancy to enter the new year and new semester. I'll be refreshed, rejuvenated, hopefully with a glow reminiscent of bubbly champagne. I'll exchange stories from a familiar bottom bunk bed and I'll laugh and reminisce and listen to theirs since they're far more exciting anyway. I'll be happy to be back. I know this because I'm already so sad to leave.

do you remember bleaching the countertops after shittily dyeing your extensions blue and purple? do you remember when I chugged coconut rum recklessly and vomited stomach acid six times the next morning? do you remember that week when we had a drink in our hands every day? except Thursday, we took a break on Thursday. do you remember when we spent a weekend hibernating in their dorm and declared ourselves officially attached at the hip? we got wasted Friday night, realized we were all sick Saturday morning, and showered at the same time, three stalls in a row. do you remember when you asked me if I was home? it took me a second to realize you were talking about here and you urged me to rush back because drinks were being passed around in celebration. do you remember the night we fell asleep on your roommate's white area rug? she begged us to not throw up on it and we didn't, instead, we lazily laid there with my legs between yours and my head on your chest. do you rememb...

winter heart and numbed fingertips warmed by your words and your words alone. my mind hasn't shut up since I read your letter and I'm not entirely sure whether I want it to. it's a reminder; an aide-memoire telling me that I am valued in a way I never considered. I never knew misspelled words written in purple ink could carry such significance. I wrote you my letter and then your shared yours, a small surprise in the middle of the night, a meeting in the hallway, I never expected this. then again, I never expected you. I've been writing about you long before your purple ink had stained my heart. and I'll keep writing.

I thought of something to write before, but now I've lost that thought. I hope it's replaced soon.

"Don't make fun of my spelling, English major." and like that you were gone, disappearing into your room. I was close to tears as my eyes scrolled down the page. But then I reached the bottom and the tsunami had come. "I told you that I felt like I didn't have a person, that I was alone. Now you are my person Deidra and I wouldn't want it any other way." I wouldn't want it any other way, either. Thank you for allowing me to be your person. I won't let you down.

everything is all right. the nights of sobbing in a handicapped bathroom stall and forced smiles from soft friends across a dinner table have come to an end. my heartbeat was that of a baby rabbit beating so rapidly in the hands of someone untrustworthy. "can we talk?" nervous, so so nervous. but really, I was nervous for no reason. apologies and explanations spilled out of my mouth. miscommunication, everything I thought I heard was wrong. I was not exiled, excommunicated, kicked out of the squad. her arms wrapped around me and it was everything I didn't know I needed. I was welcomed back as if I had never left. the value I had questioned since last week has been replenished, and now it's overflowing. we're back to laughing, and joking, and I love them so fucking much. I should've spoken up sooner. now there's four days left with the friends I'll reluctantly leave for a month. I wish we had more ti...

It's the early morning, a morning without sun,  a cute girl sleeps in the bed across from me,  body pressed against the wall. I want her, in a way.  But she's one of the prettiest girls I've ever seen,  even though she  doesn't believe it. She's close with my roommate in a way I know she will never be close to me.  I want to get closer. But I'm frozen in one place. Next door there's another girl sleeping.  I know I would never have her,  but I also knew that to her,  I was different from the rest. I was the one she slept with her arm laced around my midsection.  I was the one she was gentle with,  who she'd allow to  climb into her  top bunk.  She took shotgun every time because she knew that she belonged right by my side. There was something unspoken. I know I could never have her, but please don't forget that I was different from the rest. I ...

four am. feet cold on bathroom tiles. freshwater river running down my face. hands shaking. mouth open. high pitched sobs escape. I want someone and no one at the same time. i’m all alone anyway. I miss them more than I could properly explain. but I can’t numb this feeling away. “why do you smoke?” I need something to feel anything but this.

now they're tossing back the famous blue drinks with my replacement. She can't handle them like I could. I could hear them from two rooms away. I wish I were in there. I miss it. It was the kind of different that I enjoyed, the fun that I never experienced in high school. This was the adventure I sought at college and didn't expect to receive. Now things have come crashing down for reasons unknown to me. They dropped me. I've been stranded without a trace. It's like I never existed. But they're haunting my memory, they're haunting my life, I can't pass by either of their doors anymore without having the desperation to look in. I can't just knock on their doors and enter, catch up with them, snuggle in their beds, a mixed drink in hand, ready for the night to begin. That's in the past now. Now they're two rooms away, with familiar songs blaring, familiar drinks being mixed up. The only thing missing in this familia...

this was one of the best nights, one of the best birthdays I could've imagined. I didn't see myself making it to nineteen years, but with her sitting on the bed opposite me, pouring shots carelessly, it made me realize that I was glad I made it this far. For a split second, I wanted to make it even farther. Seven shots in and I ran to the bathroom. She followed me. Seven was officially the limit. She confesses to me her thoughts and feelings, the different remnants of her past that have made her who she is today. People have wronged her and I assure her that she deserves better. She's not drunk, she's fine, and maybe she only told me these things because I was laying on my bed, in a drunken daze, we were one on one. Maybe she assumed I wouldn't remember her fears and I wouldn't relate them to my own. We're more alike than I think we really realized. I'll cherish this night forever. Because for once, it's her and I. No c...

In this story, you are the beast with a secretly soft heart and I hoped nothing more than to believe the best in you. The petals began falling but I was still there. I knew that deep down you were better than this. At night you confessed to me your past self, why you’ve turned into this beast you are, how you’ll never be to come back. That night was still the best night and I miss it. I wish there could be more of those nights. But in this fairytale, you locked me away, just as you lock out everyone who sees the heart you try so hard to hide. All the petals fell off. You’ll be this beast forever.

mood for 2018: if you don't need me, I really don't fucking need you.

five tablets on my tongue. if only these could put me to sleep forever.

I can’t sleep. this guilt is killing me. not because I did something, but because I did nothing. there’s snot running down my face, I can’t stop crying. does this count? is this valid? why do I feel this way? I’m so angry, at him, at myself, at everything. this is eating me alive and I haven’t felt the same since Saturday. I was paralyzed the moment he touched me.

I have to stop returning to what has broken me. I have become a girl so hopelessly in love with the past that I forget how different the present is. My mind rushes past me and blurs out the flaws and discomfort. I forget that I haven't had a change of heart and never will. The nostalgia is never right and I need to stop listening to it. Two weeks from now there will be no late nights spent seated in a car with tangible memories. There will be no bruises leaving a trail of breadcrumbs. There will be no encounter with the big bad wolf that I had innocently painted. It wasn't a fairytale, it was a horror story. The pages turned, the tale became brighter, and I have no more room for terror in this novel I am continuously writing. Note to self: do not look back, you already know the ending.

And so the day begins, with sweat dripping down my back, laying flat and in a sleepy haze. An empty bottle lies in the graveyard of a garbage can. Unsuspecting gifts at my doorstep, bits of paper that I never imagined so meaningful. Little reminders that I'm not some kind of irrational being like those learned about in philosophy class. If I died tomorrow, these would be the people left behind. 19 years ago today, I did not exist at this moment and I am overly aware of this. Acid burns my throat but it's also burning my mind. Today is not the day for lectures and reminders of my own incompetence. I need to grow up, but I am growing everyday athough this progress goes unnoticed by those lurking in the darkest corners. I'm struggling but I'll be okay. That's what's important. I am stronger in the places cut open, blood replaced has been replaced with ichor, I've carried myself through hell, I've traveled through the Underworld...