Thursday, June 28, 2012

Will you?

Someone tell me why I'm feeling like this tonight?
Because I...

I do a good job of pretending that i shrug my shoulders all the time and say C'est la vie.
Or I've done it enough times for it to look believable. But.

You know, I love you too.
But if this is going to hurt, tell me soon won't you?


I need to run. And cry.
And run.
And cry.
And keep telling myself that I can outrun me until my legs give way.


It's been a really long day.
And life.

I really need my best friend now.
I just kinda wish the money in my ez link card was enough to hop on a plane to get to her.

Sent from my iPhone

Thursday, June 21, 2012


"don't think about it so much, okay?"
"why you should stop thinking about it?"
"because. You already know what you want. "

Sent from my iPhone

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

two drifters, off to see the world

It's this,
this numb, floaty, slightly disconnected feeling you get
when you've stuck a needle in your vein and you're staring at it.
Except you're not quite disconnected.
The one thing you're connected by is this tiny twitch of a pain.
It's that moment somewhere between vague discomfort and pain etched in the anticipation of pulling the needle out when you're done feeling all the things you think you needed to feel.
Or at least it is sometimes.
Only during the best of it.

Most times it's the aching absence of weight that you didn't even know you could miss.
The fullness of your name sits heavily, so heavily on my tongue,
behind my teeth,
like something I would bite into to tell myself that it's real.
That you are.

I went running. And I thought I would scream, because I kept running up against myself. I couldn't breathe, kept tripping and kept coming too damn close to screaming your name. The name my breath could spell out in the dark.
my body's been folding.
Folding inwards, around the cold space that you have left such a long, long time ago.
Has it really been that long now, how did those years pass me by?

And if it's not one name, it's another.
Circles, I'm always going in circles and that fucking tape plays on a loop and my voice cracks at dinner and it's just a note too high or three or four, I don't even know anymore.
I want to tell you.
I want to tell you how sometimes you can't be hurt enough physically for the world to know what's been done to you.
You didn't, after all.
(But that's not your fault. Really, I'm just saying.)
I want to tell you how, believe it or not, you don't have to have drank at all to blank out.
To find that you are floating overhead,
watching the whole thing happen.
To feel the time crawl by
as you count the distance between you and the blade by your bedside table.
The one that sits atop your leather-bound bible;
full of promises that you will cling to all your life afterward.
I want to tell you how the worst pain you can feel is sometimes,
most times,
not even physical.
And it sits with you and burns the inside of your skin,
its laughter snaking along the walls of your inner ear.

I want to tell you how that pain brings me full circle to a different sort of pain that happened too soon after that.

And how my breath catches again with a name I can't say aloud,
and an ache I'm not supposed to feel anymore.
And how, some days, I feel like I want to disappear.
And how, I reach for a book on my shelf
that hits too close too home.
And how I run and run and run and even when it's gotten darker I can still
see my shadow and it weighs me down with the knowledge of all the things
all the things I cannot outrun,
even if I tried.
I want to tell you that the whine and whirr,
or the ringing or the sound of merciless hacking that fills my ears just before I fall asleep is sometimes
the only thing I can hold on tight to as I drift off.

I want to tell you that I could do with someone saving me.
But I don't know where to start.

we were after the same rainbow's end

Sunday, June 17, 2012

and we all fall down

She didn't want them to fall apart, didn't want them to break.
So she's trying.
Maybe that's wrong- wasn't she always the one who said not to hold on to things too tight?
She's trying, but then why does this still feel so painful. Why does it feel like she's running in circles. Why does it feel like she's empty, empty, empty and there's no one to hold on to.
Why does that make her sadder; when she's been here before, when she's learnt to stand on her own knowing you can reach for someone's hand, inches away, and have your fingers not catch theirs.

and the room it spins. It spins and spins and spins.
come on now, catch up. Pick up your knives, your candles and run, keep running. And if you think you're running in circles, you are.
The room, it spins. It spins and spins and spins.

let me be enough. love me.
make me believe.

Friday, June 15, 2012

Best before:

I feel like I might end up on some crazy, mad rampage. That I'll start flipping tables, breaking glass and hacking away at the walls of my room with the wrong end of a hammer.
And then I'll crawl into bed crying because I don't know what's happening but mostly because i really like the walls of my room and i'll be upset that i've ruined it.

I am sick of being so polite and so considerate and not thinking about the things I want. Or asking for the things I want.
Because you're raised on fairytales where if two people love each other a whole lot, then they can read each other's minds. And they will know exactly when to come over in the middle of the day and pull you into a cuddle and say, "You're not wrong. I love you. I love how lilies are your favorite flower because of the smell but you don't keep them in the room because I'm allergic. Secretly I also love how you honestly don't need anyone getting you flowers, much less the person you're with. I like your hair whichever colour it is, although maybe a whole head of green might make me feel like I'm smelling grass sometimes."

I don't need to be swept off my feet, I don't need super special things to be done for me. I want to talk and be able to talk honestly. I miss the way you read me so easily but never assumed to know me. (not that you make assumptions about me now)

I don't want to feel like us meeting up or hanging out is just another thing we should do in the week atop responsibilities and commitments to the things that go on around us. And I don't want to numb myself to the ache of feeling like you don't really need me to be there. Because I have done that before and for too long and it's not a very nice feeling. I don't want to emotionally check-out of being with you, ever, just to keep myself safe. Because then what's the point?

Sometimes I think that I'm pushing this, forcing us when actually, there's an expiry date and we're pretty much getting there. But then I break it all down and look at the places my mind wanders to when I'm alone, the pictures I see in my head and the lines that I read; it's always about you.
And not because I 'happen' to be with you or that there are cardboard cut-outs and wooden theatre sets that create scenes and I'm just mentally photoshopping you in because you're the person-of-the-moment. It's not like that at all, because I can see you in a whole lot of things even when it's not in direct relation to me.
And I re-realize, that maybe you mean a lot to me.

But then again that's not saying anything about expiry dates or how you may or may not still feel about me.
I guess what I'm trying to say is, it's okay to not want me around or to not want to be here. It's okay if somehow we've ended up on different pages. Just maybe, there could be a way such that I won't find myself feeling like things will crumble when I touch it. That I won't just feel like i'm the one who's always ruining it all or making it difficult.
That I won't wake up one morning to find that I've slipped away so much that I've ceased to exist.
And that so have we.

p.s. So, I love you too.

Wednesday, June 13, 2012

Post-drink conversation

"So. Are you going to breakup?"
"uh. Why would you ask that?"
"Cos don't most people break up when stuff like this happens and when they feel like this?"

We were the clock-hands at midnight.
But maybe I didn't realize when I ended up four whole hours behind.

Your turn.

You know what?
I give up.

I just want to go to sleep. Want to stop trying. Want to stop being annoyed or frustrated or think, "really? This is going to happen?"

It's great. Just great.

Also, I've been getting minor (but very present, albeit short-lived) moments of paralyzing panic whenever I think about the semester in wait.
It's like a joke. It's like a sick joke except I'm the one pulling the prank on myself.

I'm tired.

So you know what?
I give up.

When the world calls in, tell them to take a message.
I'm taking a break from my life.

Sent from my iPhone

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

Don't smoke in bed

I'm tired, okay?
Of feeling like I'm wrong all the time. Of all these standards and expectations that I never seem to meet that make me feel like I am less of a person.

Sometimes I fuck up. And I'm not saying I shouldn't be held accountable or responsible. I don't think that at all to be honest.
But I guess I just. I wish I could make mistakes without feeling like I'm all wrong.


And maybe someone will say it's okay just to be me

Sunday, June 10, 2012

Prayers of the desperate

Dear God,
There's a white cab with me in the backseat.
Please, please make it crash. You can keep the driver safe but I'll keep my seatbelt off to help you along.

Sent from my iPhone

And I can think of a thousand reasons why

I fall asleep to a single line of a song playing in my head on repeat.
"Jump into your warm mobil and run away," it goes, "you're always leaving me behind."

And then, there is a voice that curls itself inside my ear. Breezy, promising, and calming. Always so, so calming.
She'll love you when you're beautiful. Whenyou'rebeautifulbeautifulbeautiful,ohwhenyou'rebeautiful. She'llloveyouwhenyou'rebeautifulbeautifulbeautiful,onlywhenyou'rebeautiful.

I missed you all day and thought being home meant I wouldn't. They must've told me a thousand different ways that you can miss someone even when they're right beside you, and yet it still catches me off-guard.
That's the thing about these things, creeping up on you when actually you meant to spend your Saturday night cuddled up and squirreling away pockets of giggles and kisses that you tell yourself you can keep like Polaroids in your wallet. I meant to do that.
But we don't always get to do the things we want, so more than anything, I missed you.

I wake up with the same song I fell asleep to- the one line that's still playing on a loop.
And then your voice is the first sound of my morning, burying itself behind my ear and into my hair as you pull me to you. I half smile and I can't help it.
I want us to be okay, to make up for last night, to feel like we might be frustrated with the situation (not just the immediate one but its never-ending tangle of roots) but that we're still on the same side.

All of me is reaching for you when I wake up, but last night still sits under my skin and we're too far away. Or I am. I don't know.
And I miss you. All over again.
Beyond wishing you wanted me, or wondering if you wanted me around or chiding myself for dealing us these cards to begin with,
Actually, I just miss you. I did all night and couldn't deal with it quick enough to even kiss you goodbye properly before you left for work.

So I've just crawled back into bed, cross with myself, burning my fingertips on the empty spots you're supposed to be in.

Jump into your warm mobil and run away.