dear you,

I’m not making this up, or trying to be romantic, or poetic. Whenever we fight, or to put it more accurately, whenever I fight with you, my heart tightens up and my lungs feel like they’re about to dissolve into foam. It sounds poetic and beautiful, but it really does happen. Maybe that’s what being broken hearted feels like. I don’t know.

But I do know that I’m a monster in arguments and I can be a bitch sometimes. I know that I can turn extremely hard and cold but if you only touched me with your fingertips I would collapse into a shameful, pathetic sobbing mess that would sometimes last for hours. I would cry so much I wouldn’t be able to breathe and start to hyperventilate. But you know that already; you’ve seen it all before.

Nabokov wrote, “Was she really beautiful? Was she at least what they call attractive? She was exasperation, she was torture.” And I am. I am exasperation and I am torture and I don’t know why you love me. And you do make me happy. Just because I get sad sometimes doesn’t mean that you’ve failed in making me happy; in fact, I’m a lot happier than I was before I met you. So stop beating yourself up whenever I get sad.

You’ve made me happier than I ever was, or ever will be. And I love you.  

It's been too long since I feel suicidal again. I've forgotten how bleak everything gets.

my darling,

if i could hold you in my bones,

i would.

if i could suck on you like marrow,

lodged deep in the hollows of my fragile bones,

i would.

but you are in my veins.

you were not born to be tucked into tiny crevasses;
hidden between the walls of osseous tissues.

you course through my body in rhythmic ferocity

that’s almost savage.

you are the blood that pulsates in me.

you are in my veins,

and you fuck.  

and that’s what’s keeping me alive. 
 

The Last Kiss

The last time we kissed was an afternoon, 3 hours before I left. We were cuddling on the bed like we always do, but this time with such unspoken heaviness and density. I didn’t want to talk about leaving, neither did you. Instead we just stared into each others’ eyes as if it was any other day and talked about everything. Your lashes are very pretty and I am quite jealous of them. I remember kissing your eyes, and then slowly kissing down to your lips. Oh those lips! It started out sweet and slow until you began to kiss with increasing urgency and your hands were all over me. I loved it when you suddenly pushed your tongue into my mouth and kissed me so hard I felt drunk and giddy. And I could still remember your soft, warm lips and your thrashing tongue. You wanted to eat me, and I was all too happy to be eaten. I guess there wasn’t really anything special about the way we kissed; we always kiss like that. But I think that what made it memorable was how much I had wanted to cry but couldn’t because I didn’t want to ruin such a perfect moment. It is a weird feeling – to hold back tears while kissing, but at the same time, it’s also one of the most beautiful, tenderest moments of my life.