I fell in love with a boy whose eyes reminded me of freshly brewed coffee on a cold winter morning when I didn't want to drag myself up out of bed and face the harsh light of the day. I probably should have realized that he held my hand so tightly, he nearly broke my wrist, and that when he told me he loved me, I felt my bones crumbling under the weight of his words. When he kissed my lips, he tasted like cigarettes, and now I'm stuck here wondering if maybe the reason we kissed so much was because I've always been attracted to the things I knew would kill me in the end. I never wanted him to leave. I wanted him to be the one I spent my life with. I prayed to some forsaken God every night that the love poems he wrote for me would not have to serve as goodbye mementos. I guess that God didn't hear me. The anatomy books say that your ribs are there to protect your heart and vital organs. It turns out that ribs can be broken pretty easily when someone convinces you that you are their world, when really, you are hardly a raindrop. He told me to never call him drunk. He said that it reminded him of his shitty ex girlfriend. Little did I know that it didn't matter whether I called him after two shots of vodka, or eight. It was already decided from the moment we met, that I would just be another shitty ex girlfriend he'd tell some other bright eyed girl about. I don't know why I always felt so suffocated. Maybe it was because I never had anyone care about me enough to ask where I was and what I was doing when it was late at night and I was impulsive enough to climb out a window and wander aimlessly, trying to find the pieces of myself that I had lost so long ago. Some days I would wake up wondering if today would be the day that he would leave me. I always knew that I was so much less than he was. He never caught them looking, but girls with twinkly eyes and pristine hair, and figures that resembled hour glasses would stare at him like he was the sun, and I was a wilted flower. I can't say that I blamed them. He never really knew it, but he was always my first. He was the first kiss that ever made me feel something, my first real boyfriend. He was the first person I let close enough to tear me to shreds in an instant. He was my first priority above everything else, and god, I would have given up everything I loved to make him see that. Because at the end of the day, I always loved him more. I can't blame him for getting bored, or tired, or whatever it was that suddenly made him realize that I wasn't worth it. I was an immature little girl caught up in the illuminating light of his smile. And now that light has faded so far into the distance, I can't see anything. I can't even breathe. I'm sorry. God, I am so fucking sorry. He never thought he would get an apology from me, but here it is, here is my apology. I'm sorry for everything. Every last little thing I did wrong, or could have done better, I'm sorry that I didn't. My nervous breakdowns are not cute. I've found myself laying on the bathroom floor every night since you left, sobbing your name in a slurred voice that isn't my own. I choke down cheap vodka and painkillers as if they could remedy this feeling of razor blades tearing open my veins, every time I remember you saying "I don't love you anymore." My bones are shaking tree branches riddled with the harshness of a prevalent windstorm. When I am sad I play the voicemails that you left me before you stopped calling all together. I've memorized the love poems you wrote me and I recite them each night the way that a dying woman recites Hail Mary's until she can no longer force the right words out of her mouth. Most people spend their whole lives searching for someone who makes them feel as if every nerve ending in their body is a live wire. You were my someone. And I can't replace that- I'm not even trying. No one could electrocute my spine and flood through my veins like morphine the way that you did. God, I miss you. Tomorrow is your birthday, and it hope that you will be sober enough to remember it. I hope that you are happy. I hope the stars are kissing your cheeks tonight, and that your lungs are open and breathing in this life. I hope that there is a kite in your hand that's flying all the way up to Orion and that you still have a thousand yards of string to let out. I hope that you're smiling like God is pulling at the corners of your mouth. I hope that you miss me, just a little bit. I lost track of the days that it took for me to realize how it takes ten times longer to put yourself back together than it does to fall apart. I drove my car into the tree that we carved our names into, so that I could carve them into my wrist instead. I wish that you were more than just a scar on my skin. I wish you were here. Please tell me when the fuck this is supposed to stop hurting.
