the highest skies

Even when you do respond to me and even when you decide to call, I still feel alone. As if you had somewhere better to be, things to do other than answer your nagging girlfriend's calls. And I can picture you, reading my texts, laughing along with your friends as you drive around the silent streets of Suburbia, smoking cigarettes and screaming words to songs you all know. Things we all used to do together, you now do with other people. You've moved on from me, and I am drowning in your absence. I sit around and wait for you, hoping to get a text or a phone call. But days pass; nothing.

So this is what loving someone is like.

It feels like you're gone. As if you've quietly excused yourself from my life, you slipped out the door while another of my friends was telling a wild story that had everyone enthralled. And I sat in this lonely dining room, sat and waited long after everyone else had left, days and days and days until maybe you'd come back, you'd throw your jacket that She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named bought you onto the couch. You'd throw it on the couch, leave the living room and turn the corner to the dining room. You'd see me sitting among everyone's left overs, from days, maybe weeks ago, among dirty dishes and the smell of stale perfume and candles that have turned into burning puddles of wax. You'd see my running eyeliner, my messy, unkempt hair, the ladybug that accompanied me for the past few days in your absence. You'd take me into your arms, and I'd cry, sob, scream, despite having gotten all of that out days ago. You'd rock me back and forth, you'd rub circles into my back with just the tip of your thumb (like you always do), you'd refuse to let go. I wouldn't ask where you've been, you wouldn't ask about my friends or why I haven't moved. Because we both know, we've been to the darkest places these past few days, weeks, months. But none of that requires any discussion, because you came back, and I waited.

After what seems like lifetimes, we'd separate, and tend to the leftover food and dirty dishes that have, between the time that you arrived and now, accumulated grotesque levels of mold.

I smell you on the sheets. I smell your body lying next to me in the night, while I push and push and push you into the wall in my sleep, unconciously reclaiming what's mine. I smell you hovering over me, as you kiss and kiss and kiss my neck, my collarbone, my chin, and finally land back where you're supposed to be. And your hips, they grind and grind and grind into mine and I want want want you, all of you, all the time. I've never felt this hungry and I'm surprised at how accurately I locate the button, the zipper, and you pull pull pull until everythings gone, until its us and we intertwine and I realize that you are the missing part of me. It is this realization that makes me beg you to stay, that makes me cry and cry and cry until I lull myself to sleep. Because you're gone and you won't stay, just for me, just for another hour, please? I watch my missing piece get in the car and drive drive drive away. I come back upstairs, climb into bed, and I smell you on the sheets.

The End

I need something to keep you tied to me. I need something to make sure you won't wander away from me. I want to make you happy, and I want it to be right. And I keep trying and trying but something in me screams No, this is wrong, he is going to hurt you. They all do.

Saying goodbye is hard enough.

Maybe I'm falling for you

I got drunk for the first time and you had to carry me around the house because I couldn't walk. I can't remember anything but apparantly I tried to get in your pants. You got drunk the next day and threw up everywhere, and as I was taking care of you, you told me you loved me.

We both say and do things we don't mean.

Some days, I can't wait to get away from everything and go to college. To start over, to have four classes a semester and a new life and new friends. And then I look back at the amazing summer I've had so far, look back at you and our friends and our lives together, intertwined. And this is what I've wanted all along, so why am I not happy?

We kissed inside of your trunk, our hands fumbling in the dark, our legs entwined together. I am reminded of your dogs cuddling with me because they are afraid of the thunder, of Cody holding me back from running outside to greet the gardener, of my crazy neurotic brain and being too much for you to handle. But it seems, for the moment, that you can handle me just fine.