You took the bobby pins out of my hair and I was undone. You notice the small things that most people don’t, and I never want you to go.

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I find tremendous freedom in the fact that you can only ever be who you are.

And it’s not poetry to walk on hot coals or to bleed your heart dry from so many tears cried out into an empty night.

But I had to start from scratch. And I’ve been real sour about it until about three days ago when I realized that this life is turning into something truer than I thought it could. And it’s okay. And I’m okay, too.

Maybe it’s silly, after all this time and space, but I believe that you can hear me. Because you picked me roses when I was sad. And you bled.

I’m hardly a romantic anymore. But sometimes I just want to say thanks.

I did it by myself, but not without you.


And I wanted you to care about the hole in my sock that I got at 9:30pm on New Year’s Eve 

And the nothing interesting that happened to me, too 

But you weren’t there and you aren’t here and the movie date we penciled in for the end of the week will go to waste and who’s gonna hold your magazines at the flea and why do we have to be so dramatic all the time, or is it really just me?



Empty space

Unrequited quiet-dark

2019 is the year

I don’t know what else to say

If ya really wanna know

It scared me away when you didn’t kiss me back