I am here writing to you because I no longer get to tell you about my day. I once said I wish I were to experience love, enough to write an essay. A chunky essay of endearment and torment and wonder and joy.
Today was a good day, I thought of you.
I try so very hard not to, but this time was slightly different.
I thought good of you.
I remembered things of you I thought I had forgotten. Firstly, what I love about myself: I am strong.
It takes a lot for things to effect me and I choose to show gratitude to those who decide to hurt me. You are one of them.
Secondly, I am graceful. Not many people get to witness me beyond my grace and when they do its down to character development; a level up in the relationship between us. I get most of my qualities from either past experiences and traumas or the strength of my idols.
Finally, love.
I love hard, I love deeply and exhaustingly. I won't stop loving until my heart turns black. And that is why it takes me so long to love someone, or to claim a slight liking to someone. I got that from you, all my angel qualities I get from you.
I have noticed as time moves on, a life without you is a lot harder. I cannot come to you with my problems, my heartbreak, my love. I cannot share my love with you like I once used to. I like remembering parts of you each day, it reminds me you are still here, with me...wherever you are. I sometimes wonder whether you hate me. You are blind to why I chose happiness over you.
My grandmother gave me a book the other day. It wrote goodbye school, hello world. I threw it away as I could so clearly see it was from you.
But today was a good day.
As my back slid down the back of the door I rattled around in my pocket only to realise I didn't have my keys. Owen was with me. When is he not? He sat down beside me. Only you'd forget Olivia. The breeze warmed my skin enough to make me smile, summer was coming. What do you hate about yourself? His words fall from his mouth so slowly it is hard to avoid such a question. My forehead I reply. As much as I would rather talk about him. We speak as if we have all the time in the world, because at this moment in time I guess we do. How I love his apple eyes. And his smile, oh my that smile. Buttercups rinse my waterlines, the scent of pollen poisons my breath, he is change... or maybe just the season.
14.06.22
We broke up. I couldn't tell you the exact reason. I think you already have a good idea at this point, I wasn't ready. He can't seem to clasp that. His desires are way out of line to mine, I want to be able to love him, but like I said my hand doesn't fit into his. I hate to hurt him, because he is one of the most important people in my life at this moment, just not the way he wants to be. He doesn't cause me butterflies, or an eruption of excitement, more like a comfort zone I remain in and out of. Yet there is something about his presence, as if looking in his eyes long enough can make me even more indecisive than I was before. I am not scared to lose him, because I know he's obsessed with me. But if I'm not scared, then our love isn't a risk. Love should be a risk. He can change my outlook on the world, he makes me aware of my surroundings. And the sex, well it was good, but seems to be an old routine. Yesterday I nearly threw up over his touch, not necessarily because of him but apart of me felt disgusted at myself for having sex with somebody I possess, somebody I'm pretty certain I am not in love with. Sometimes I wish he had never met me.
Last night I had a dream. Over someone he is certain I am not over, I was sure I was. He tells me I bring his name to the surface of our conversations constantly, deliberately most not. I don't even realise. Maybe I am just addicted to the rejection, the fact he doesn't desire me like Owen does. His very pretty name, Owen. I remember not feeling a thing seeing Alex stand there the other day. So why the fuck am I dreaming of this boy, the boy that remains as a bruise on the back of my heart. Why would I desire something so destructive? Something so meaningless. Prom is next week, my nose is sun kissed and my eyes are full of brittle hey fever and month four goes by with no period...
I fucked my way into this mess, I'll fuck my way out. Prom was last night, it was intense. I guess all proms are overrated. But i wouldn't change a thing about my dress, the way my fists clenched the red velvet and meshed with the silk that sat unevenly above my torso. My collarbone arranged perfectly to represent the rest of my body. My shoes were high, black ribbons swallowed my ankles and gold rinsed around my neck.
I was content in myself, in my looks
but my heart ached
my head hurt
and I wanted to go home
which is when I remembered I'd forgotten where it was.
