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Literature Text
Sometimes, I think you forgot me.
To admit it, most days I've forgotten you, too. But sometimes a moment comes along that feels like you in my bones, and suddenly you're crashing through my veins, riding my pulse straight to my heart. And you sit in my chest, heavy and unwelcome, and it's hard to breathe because I cannot shut off the reel of memories playing in my head. So I close my eyes and count to ten, breathe evenly and steadily, tell myself that you are miles and years away. But I wake up the next morning with a dry taste in my mouth and a hollowness somewhere in the pit of my stomach and you're hanging onto me like a shadow even though it's already high noon.
You are a seasonal affliction. During the winter you are buried with the sunlight, but the moment the heat rises and the days lengthen, I can feel you. Last Tuesdays I drove for no reason with the windows down, the scent of fresh rain on hot pavement and shaved grass slapping my face, and it smelled like the curve of your collarbones. Tonight, the twilight tasted like your breath, so I refused to sleep and stayed out on my porch, watching the stars and dreaming about running off to the beach so I can remember the night we sat on the rocky Mediterranean shoreline and found Orion's belt. I looked to the heavens and fought the urge to dive into the water, letting it stain my lips so I can remember the salty taste to your kiss the day you wrapped your legs around me in the sea, and whispered fiercely that you loved me no matter what anyone said.
It's amazing how things never go to plan. I spent our last night shaking in your arms, a fever boiling in my brain, apologizing for missing the sun hurdle over the horizon. You bit your lip at me and cried when you told me you'd miss me. When you said you were afraid you'd never see me again. I closed my eyes and laid my head on your thighs while I planned out our future in the form of a story, one that left you shaking with me, the echoes of "I promise, I promise" surrounding us in the hallway until we were convinced we could never feel alone. But I am no prophet, or I would have chased you down the stairs when you finally wrenched yourself from me. I never would have let you go if I knew you'd be right and we'd both be heartbroken.
Sometimes, I remember you. Sometimes I feel foolish for thinking about us. But in that brief moment, I reach out for you and wonder what it would be like to smell you on my skin again, to feel your head on my chest, to watch the smile on your face as I pull you into an alley and kiss your jawline as you breathlessly tell me that this was meant to happen. I think you forgot me, but I'm thinking about us and the simultaneous flutters of our hearts, and I'm going to sleep wishing with all my heart to wake up to sweaty skin on thin bedsheets, and the sight of your face illuminated by the sunrise. Sometimes, I think you forgot me, but I'd give it all up just to hear you say good morning.
To admit it, most days I've forgotten you, too. But sometimes a moment comes along that feels like you in my bones, and suddenly you're crashing through my veins, riding my pulse straight to my heart. And you sit in my chest, heavy and unwelcome, and it's hard to breathe because I cannot shut off the reel of memories playing in my head. So I close my eyes and count to ten, breathe evenly and steadily, tell myself that you are miles and years away. But I wake up the next morning with a dry taste in my mouth and a hollowness somewhere in the pit of my stomach and you're hanging onto me like a shadow even though it's already high noon.
You are a seasonal affliction. During the winter you are buried with the sunlight, but the moment the heat rises and the days lengthen, I can feel you. Last Tuesdays I drove for no reason with the windows down, the scent of fresh rain on hot pavement and shaved grass slapping my face, and it smelled like the curve of your collarbones. Tonight, the twilight tasted like your breath, so I refused to sleep and stayed out on my porch, watching the stars and dreaming about running off to the beach so I can remember the night we sat on the rocky Mediterranean shoreline and found Orion's belt. I looked to the heavens and fought the urge to dive into the water, letting it stain my lips so I can remember the salty taste to your kiss the day you wrapped your legs around me in the sea, and whispered fiercely that you loved me no matter what anyone said.
It's amazing how things never go to plan. I spent our last night shaking in your arms, a fever boiling in my brain, apologizing for missing the sun hurdle over the horizon. You bit your lip at me and cried when you told me you'd miss me. When you said you were afraid you'd never see me again. I closed my eyes and laid my head on your thighs while I planned out our future in the form of a story, one that left you shaking with me, the echoes of "I promise, I promise" surrounding us in the hallway until we were convinced we could never feel alone. But I am no prophet, or I would have chased you down the stairs when you finally wrenched yourself from me. I never would have let you go if I knew you'd be right and we'd both be heartbroken.
Sometimes, I remember you. Sometimes I feel foolish for thinking about us. But in that brief moment, I reach out for you and wonder what it would be like to smell you on my skin again, to feel your head on my chest, to watch the smile on your face as I pull you into an alley and kiss your jawline as you breathlessly tell me that this was meant to happen. I think you forgot me, but I'm thinking about us and the simultaneous flutters of our hearts, and I'm going to sleep wishing with all my heart to wake up to sweaty skin on thin bedsheets, and the sight of your face illuminated by the sunrise. Sometimes, I think you forgot me, but I'd give it all up just to hear you say good morning.
Literature
please let me get what i want.
For two hundred and eighty four days, I woke up. I woke up with this bone-deep ache that never went away. I woke up to an incessant question playing in my mind that would never be answered. I woke up alone.
For two hundred and eighty four days, I woke up without you when I woke up at all. The thing about time is that it never does make anything better. It just means more space to think. It means sleepless nights trying to figure it all out. When it went wrong. How to make it better. It means slowly losing my mind. But it never once meant getting over you.
It's funny how the things you think you've forgotten always come rushing back when you
Literature
only love can break your heart
i was packing for university, going through my closet – and found a small wooden box. i opened it, and found a thousand faded memories.
i.
a littleboy valentine from the boy i loved in grade two. the lace edges are torn, but the careful cursive letters stating his everlasting love are as bright as they were when they could still light up my heart.
ii.
a broken crayon from the first boy i kissed. he held my hand and told me i was pretty in the way that only a twelveyearoldboy can, and on my birthday he gave me a crayon the exact color of my eyes.
iii.
a stuffed toy my first real boyfri
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finding your lullaby.
this is for you.
for all of you.
for those who are but are not.
for those who believe love is just a chemical reaction.
for those who are nothing but static on the mainstream radio.
for those who will never know forever.
for those who live in the highs and lows of the roller-coaster ocean breeze.
for those who hurt themselves because they're afraid of hurting anyone else.
for those whose cries have been drowned by the summer rain.
for those who have been mistaken for God.
for those who battle a thousand soldiers of themselves just to find who they really are.
for those who are nothing
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this wasn't how it was supposed to feel
i haven't written in awhile. sorry if it's rusty
i haven't written in awhile. sorry if it's rusty
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Comments48
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This is an utterly beautiful yet incredibly heartbreaking piece of writing.
I adore your use of descriptions to signify the emotions the narrator is feeling.
Great work - keep it up and keep writing!
I adore your use of descriptions to signify the emotions the narrator is feeling.
Great work - keep it up and keep writing!