Grief Written

I think I'll always remember the Sunday where I sat in your lap in a random parking lot in the middle of the day. My arms clung to your neck and I sobbed into your shoulder.  "Just stay. Please stay. Let me be your girl. I want to have Sunday dinners with your family and love them like my own. I want them to tease you about me. I want us. So just stay. Let me be your girl."  And you touched my face tenderly and smiled a smile that broke my heart as you told me. "You're a tough girl to refuse." But we both knew you were. And you touched my stinging stomach from the night before where I stood on your doorstep meeting your mother for the first time, asking her where you were. "I told you she would've liked you. She thought you were sweet." You always knew how to break my heart in so little words.

And the most heartbreaking thing was when I told you, "do whatever makes you happy." And in response you told me, "I hope we can still be friends." -why wasn't I good enough?

Reason took my heart by its hand and they sat there for a moment watching you walk away. You didn't even glance over your shoulder. My heart cried for a moment, scarlet drops falling to the floor. Glancing beneath its feet it whispered, "now look at the mess I've made." Reason watched you for a moment longer and then tightened its grip on the heart "I shouldn't have  let you get away again." "I think it's time to go home." So Reason walked the heart home, tucking it in its bed of rib and bones. And there it stayed, because it still ached from the last time it ran away.

Just a little disclaimer, this post was inspired by my best friend Ardon, who was inspired by the song "You Don't Need to Love Me" from the musical If/then. Basically there was a lot of inspiration. Anywayyyyy. You don't need to love me. Let me rephrase that,  I don't need you to love me. And let me tell you why, There once was a girl with the forest trapped in her eyes who fell in love with a boy who had the sky in his. So the forest within her reached out to the sky within him, with stretching arms desperate to stroke the sky.  And so she stretched and reached and let herself believe that she was the one who held up the sky and he was the one who kept her warm at night wrapping himself between her branches.  And he told her that he loved her whether her branches were decorated or barren. Because he was in love with her skeleton, the things she was built from. But he changed and so did she. We often do. He fell in love with her green, her liveliness.  Winter came

There once was a little girl with indecisive eyes, Whose Mother put her soft blonde hair into pigtails and ribbons, Which the little girl would pull out moments later, Leaving her hair wild like her spirit. There once was a little girl with rosy cheeks, Whose Mother would try to gently wipe food from, But the little girl would push her hands away screaming in protest, Leaving the girl messy and happy. There once was a little girl with a curious mind, Whose Mother would always try to satisfy. Her pointing fingers, or tantruming fists, never received a good enough answer to her ever constant question of "why?" There once was a girl who wasn't so little anymore. At age fifteen the girl decided her eyes were the ordinary color brown,  And only let her Mother put her hair in ponytails with a single ribbon, Which the girl would leave in all day, Even though they gave her a headache, Because that's how the girls at school wore their hair. The girl painted her cheek

She sat on the cold counter, watching her feet swing above the wood floor. The phone was pressed against her ear lightly, "I think the unknown will always drive me crazy, you know? It's like we have this endless amount of strings tying us to everyone that hold all these different possibilities. And I wish that I could've followed his and I's string to the end. I mean where did it lead? I can only imagine it. It's this whole tangled mess of what could've been." "Well why didn't you find out where it lead?" "The string got cut or it snapped. I dont know. That's the problem with the strings, sometimes they just break. Or sometimes people wake up and decide that they want to cut it."  "Well what now?" "I dont know," she whispered tiredly with the microwave flashing the numbers 2:30 am at her. "I just have this useless string  connecting me to a ghost and I wonder what they're doing with their half. Did t

Remember the moon? Remember how it continued to shine despite the darkness crowding it? Remember how we used to dream about going to the moon, drew plans on empty pages, built model rockets out of cardboard? Remember how it was just a race on who could get there first, who could touch it, mark it first? Remember as soon as we left the moon it was forgotten? Yes I remember the moon. I know the moon, all too well. I heard she fell in love with a sea. I heard she missed him in the day, and drew him to her at night. I heard that she kept revolving, desperate to catch a look at every part of him and show him every piece of her. I also heard that his depths were so dark and far that no part of her every reached all of him. She missed him everyday. But you don't really want to talk about the moon or the sea. You want to talk about you and me. All the moon ever was to you was a carefully constructed metaphor. Let's be honest here Often, we spoke plainly in metaphors.

You've imagined this all wrong. Allow me to reset the scene. We're on top of a stage in New York City. You have white gloves, a midnight black top hat, and booming voice saying, "For my next trick, I will make my lovely assistant disappear." That was me, the assistant. I was only there to, well assist, because I was never the main attraction kind of girl. No one paid to see me. I was an assistant. An inciting incident there to move things a long, and to be honest I didn't really mind. The reason why was standing next to me. He smiled a smile that made people dedicate things to him art, poetry, music, hearts, they were all his at the tilt of his lips. His blue eyes sparkled with all the bright lights focused on us but there was something there besides the light that made them sparkle. Oh the lovely assistant was madly in love with the talented magician. He focused on her and his demeanor shifted and all she could think was "god he loves me too."

"Your writing is the most beautiful thing I've ever read. You say things that I'm afraid to say. You aren't afraid to say the truth when everyone else is scared to admit that that's the way they feel." -A boy in love. January 25, 2015.  He is no longer in love so no, he probably wont find this beautiful, or brave, he'll probably hate it. I am not a nightmare lurking in the dark corners of your mind. I am not the ghost that reappears and vanishes in one breath that was drawn before the endless screaming. I am not the one that holds your unsteady heart in my hands and devours it whole. I was never charming or deceiving. I never lurked, or disappeared to reappear, or devoured. I looked you straight into the heart and told you I was dead. I whispered you shouldn't love me because I had the habit of turning into a poltergeist. I rattle, thrash, scream, and wreck the inhabitants of my heart. I waltzed through the hallways and continued to remind

Three  Two One  Abracadabra. I've vanished in thin air just as I had asked you countless times before. And your reply had always been "I'm no magician." But for a while magicians used to be nothing more than thiefs, distracting you with illusions while they steal away your wallet. And you distracted me with your allusive eyes as you stole my heart away, Shook out your cape, straightened out your gloves, smiled your distracting smile and said it was all a trick of love.

The reminder came almost suddenly, subtly. Like heartbreak and grief that appear like an unexpected visitor knocking on your door. Or t he visitor of death, who takes your breath away so quickly without remorse. It just appeared. I nearly had forgotten. So I waited for a knock at my door. But there was only silence mixed with anticipation, dread of that rhythmic knock knock knock. Had I missed the noise? Usually it was deafening. Hard to ignore. The kind of knock that shook the house and rattled your bones. The kind that brings the house of straw tumbling down as my heart cowers in the wreckage with the terrible cry of "little heart, little heart, let me in."  And my heart replied "I still have bruises on my skin from the last time I let you inside." So heartbreak and grief huffed and puffed and stole my breath away. But today, I could breathe. Today, I felt only nostalgic. Today, I didn't lie in bed with your letter clutched to my chest tracing words that you n

We never got this far. But if we had we would've sat in the parking lot of the school. I'm sure you know exactly where. I  would've looked you in the eye and said "you will always be my ghost of almost." And etched in the silence would be the number six. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. These were my best days, And my worst day.

I gave in and let you give me directions to the next place. I drove. You listened. Gave directions when necessary.  But when we turned on the dirt road. Ignored signs telling us to stop. Ignored signs telling us the road was closed. To go home. When we went until we couldn't go any longer. We stopped. Unsure of what to do next. So you spoke up. Showed me another way. And when I pulled over and turned the car off you were silent. Unyielding. So I yanked my keys out of the ignition, shoved a sweatshirt over my head, and climbed towards the abandoned bridge. There's beauty in abandonment, but we can't see it in ourselves. I laid there right in the middle of the rusty dirty old bridge and looked at the real stars. The ones that burn out. Disappear. Somewhere in the night I heard a car door close, but no footsteps approached me so I stayed there in my pretty white dress on the grimy bridge. And when I had had enough I stood up. Your figure loomed on the edge of the other bridge.

I blew through a stop sign. I didn't mean to. My mind recognized it a little too late, I couldn't stop. I can't stop. Just stop. But I was going too fast. I'm going too fast. I don't have time. Brakes only work when you have a little time. We arrived at the park and I asked if you even wanted to finish. I could only hold your hand through the race for so long. Eventually someone had to lose. Someone had to take first and someone had to fall to second.  You told me you wanted to finish but made no move to get out of the car. So I left you there and ran to the swings. I swung hard and fast letting the breath be drug from me in little huffs. "Make me a constellation" I begged the sky. She tenderly touched my cheek and told me she would if I could let go. But I couldn't. My fingers were glued to the chains. I can't let go. Let go. The sky won't take you if you don't let go. But I couldn't. So she left me there. And you came. We swung in sil

We were lost. I  was lost. Each mile I became more and more frustrated because things never seem to fall into place. There was a wreck on the road. We had to take a detour. How fitting. You insisted on helping me but I refused it. I didn't need your help anymore. At least, that's what I was trying to prove. I am stubborn. I am independent. I was...am lost. But I found my way because after so many turns and flips and miles everyone eventually finds a way to get there. We walked into the garden in a stony silence. You hopped onto the railing and I placed my arms on either side of you. The words slipped out "tell me why?" We fought. I pushed and you pulled away. We were caught in this endless game of give and delay. We left and more words slipped from my tongue "are you happier?" You said yes and my mind forgot to remind my heart that I am not affected by the storm.  So my heart was swept away and I wondered why you it was impossible for you to just try when yo

You opened the door and my breath hitched. My heart stuttered like nervous steps leading up to a hurdle.  This is just a hurdle. Just breathe. Just jump. Get over it. So I jumped and looked into those eyes tsunami eyes of yours. "I am not touched by the storm" is what my mind told my heart as it cried out that it was drowning. I spoke my first words and they came out clear and light like the weight of possibilities weren't dragging them under. "Don't be difficult, don't ask questions, and be nice about my driving." I shifted into gear and drove like I was just another girl and you were just another boy with your feet on my dash. We parked above the skyline and watched the artificial stars gleam at us. They blinked and shined proudly as if to say "we are the everlasting burning that fills this faulty Galaxy." At least they wouldn't burn out.  God this is the worst idea I've ever had, but if my coaches taught me anything it was that you r

The beginning is always the hardest part. I've typed the beginning of this too many times that I've realized I was never any good at beginnings. So I look to another to start this post like Dickens started his cherished classic, "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times."

And when you've lost them... When they've slipped through your grasp which continued to tighten as they fell. People tell you "there are other fish in the sea."  And it's so hard not to look them in the eye and grasp them by the shoulders and shake them like your voice is shaking when you tell them, "Oh but he was my sea. He was my ocean. No fish can replace the ocean." And when he was the ocean he reached out to the moon as he inhaled with his tide but in same breath he exhaled and ran to sand. In the same moment he reached out to me he embraced the land, because his 70% can embrace her 30% but I can only pull him to me so far.  And a pull can only do so much, because even as I pull him to me he'll hesitate and pull away. Yet he has the audicty to tell me there was love in his delay.

On April 9, 1865 General Lee of the confederate army surrendered at Appotomax Court. Four years of heartache, death, and bloodshed had come to an end with a white flag stained red. But 584 miles away in Alabama a battle raged on unaware that the white flag had been waved in the air. Many men continued to wage war on the other side because they weren't told that the angry blood had run cold.  They continued to kill, continued to seal their brothers fates with Death.  A ghostly figure dressed in black weeping over the boys turned to men never to be brought back. Life, another ghostly figure dressed in white, cried out across the field to Death. "This theft!" Time ran out like blood from their veins. In vain. In vain. In vain. If you think their sacrifice was noble and herioc, than you make me sick. They were too deep in the blood, too blinded by their cause, too deaf to hear the surrender. They didn't have to die. And it's been stated before that love is just a game

I swore I could never hate you, And to this day and moment it's still true. But when you let me leave like that, With a sob caught in my throat and shaking hands. When I rushed to the door and hit a desk on my way out. All you did was watch. All I needed was you to chase after me and tell me that you still cared. That this hurt you too. But as always you were too calm and too detached. Someone else chased after me. Someone I barely knew caught my arm in the hallway and led me to their car. Someone else let me cry into their shoulder. Someone else laughed with me at that hiccup I make when I cry too hard. Someone else pushed my hair away from my tear stained face. Someone else cared. And I was so close to hating you in that moment because I still wanted that someone to be you.

"You just wanted a hand to hold, I wanted yours." -ten words that explain the difference of you and me

"You've stopped telling me not to apologize, so I'm sorry."-another ten word story

I knew I was losing you when I started losing myself, I felt each piece slowly fade away. I began to feel empty, as you began to forget me. But I don't regret the pieces I gave you, I lost them because I couldn't save you.

I stopped telling you stories, and you didn't even notice. -a ten word story 

We talked about it so long that it slipped my tongue..."when" Unfortunately you noticed the slip "if" you corrected me. Who knew two tiny letters could hurt so bad.

I've stopped sleeping again. The bags under my eyes are growing darker so my makeup is getting thicker. No ones really noticed. I think they've grown so accustomed to seeing a ghost of myself that they've stopped looking for the body. I'm a picture that's faded. Something with the intensity and saturation turned way down to make me looked muted. I don't mind much anymore I guess. It's just sleep after all. The nightmares are back. They're what meets me beneath my eyelids when sleep finally visits. I wonder if that's why I don't even try to sleepy anymore. They're not as bad as they used to be. Or maybe that's just what I tell myself. Who still has nightmares? I'm so pathetic. I've stopped showing up to class. No one's really noticed. I missed my favorite class. I stopped arguing in another one. I've just been relabeled as a student who no longer cares. I

When you ignore people you're telling them "you're not worthy of my response, or validation." Thats why silence is a knife  to all our hearts. It tells us "you're not enough."

I once had pretty words to fall asleep to and cradle in my heart. They were just words but they made me fall in love. But now even those have stopped...and so has my heart.

A hundred years ago Einstein developed the theory of quantum mechanics. Essentially the theory deals with two things: Probability and uncertainty. The theory, put simply, states that particles have dual patterns until they encounter some interference and in space there is always interference. The uncertainty and unpredictability of the particles has become the fundamentals of quantum mechanics. Basically nothing is for sure. Electrons, photons, neutrons, and protons are what everything is made of. They are what we study. We claim that biology is the study of life but we fail to mention that chemistry is the study of what this life is made of. We also fail to mention that it is relevant to love. And because of this fact, quantum mechanics tells us that life is uncertain, unclear, and unpredictable. Life is the ultimate teacher of quantum mechanics. When I met you, when our paths interfered, I could swear that our hearts were aligned. I had skipped through wave lengths, t

Love is a game of Russian roulette. You hand me a bullet with a question of whether I want to play. Let's put a revolver to our hearts, And hear the chamber click like it's an answer to a question we don't know we've asked. Can you pull the trigger first? Or are we haunted by the past? The loaded gun, heavy in our hands, resembling the loaded question of love.  I was always quick on the draw. I can't count all observers who watched me fall, pull the trigger, without a second thought because love is all I sought; and as I lay there bleeding with a wounded heart, they ask me if I knew that the resounding shot wasnt signaling the start. It was the shot of the final lap. The end.  They didn't tell me when I leapt that it was a misstep, the law of gravity doesn't bend for anyone. Not for me. Not for you. Not for people in love, because gravity is an abusive relationship you can't get out of. We can't float on

It's 1:58 AM. And I can tell you with absolute honesty at 7:00 PM I wanted to die. Around 8:00 PM I had locked myself in the bathroom and everyone had stopped trying. There were no knocks. I sat with my back against the door and my head in my hands. When I looked up I saw a razor sitting on the edge of the bathtub looking like a right answer. At 8:40 I sat in a towel on the phone with a father who lives across the country. He told me "I'm not mad about the car, don't cry." Little did he know I was crying because I felt like dying and all he saw was a car that needed repaired not his little girl with an empty stare. At 8:45 I put the razor under the counter and instead took a shower. I still wanted to die, but I didn't want it to be so messy. At 8:50 I got out the shower got dressed looked in the mirror, and told myself "it's for the best." But at 9:30 I was still here. I sat in my room solving math problems when I couldn&

What can be said for a girl who wants to save the world when she can't even save herself?

" And I want you to keep running. I want you to get up and finish the race. You have to finish." Run, run as fast as you can. But here I am wondering if I can even stand. Collapsed I'm wondering if I'm just best seen as collateral damage.  I run, mostly from my problems. But they're catching and I'm falling.  They're the flames and I'm the trail of gaseolone, it is inevitable that I'm going to burn up.  The soles of my shoes resemble the soul beneath my burning and itching skin. Worn down, cracked, tired. But I get up and run because that's what I do. I run away. From people. My problems. Myself. I know it is inevitable that they'll catch but I keep running like the world keeps turning despite the possibility that a burning meteor could come and destroy us all. "You run away." "You run too." "But you run faster." And I wonder why you want me to keep running, why

"We save the ones we love by lying to them."-ten word story

When I was a little girl I had black cowgirl boots with purple thread. I loved them. It think it must've been the purple thread, when I was a child I was fascinated by the different. I liked things that stood out. I wore them as much as my mother would let me. The purple thread began to fray and fade.  I cried when I couldn't shove my feet into them anymore. My toes ached from the pinched end of shoes too small. I tried to hide it from my mom, I wanted to keep wearing them. I wanted them even though I outgrew them and they caused me pain and discomfort. Life is like that I guess. I miss the little girl with black boots and purple thread. I'm worried about her. I want to protect her. I want to warn her. Pills crushed into dust falling where I walk like pixie dust, a braided necklace, things worse than the scraped knees she's accustomed to stops her from coming closer.  I want to tell her to look away from me. But I can still see her black boots with purple thread and her

Stay with them for a long time. Learn their insecurities, help them battle their fears. Lull them into a sense of security. Be there on the other end when the have a nightmare, have your arms open when they need somewhere to fall, force them to look at you when they feel like the tears wont ever stop, and when they cry and tell you they want to die tell them the earth just wouldn't be the same without them. Dream up a future for you and them, paint it with pretty words and promises. And when they think they're yours, when they think they've finally found someone who loves them more, flip a U-turn. Change plans. Slash the painting. They wont say anything because they want what's best for you, what you want. They won't stop you from achieving your dreams, because they've realized they love you more. Congratulations, you've learned how to break a heart.

You have pretty words that make a girl fall in love with you, the sad thing is all they are is words.

"There's a difference between someone slipping through your fingers and you dropping them. Remember that curling your fingers into a defiant fist prevents both."

I ran to the tree and scrambled up it even though I was in a skirt. "What are you doing?" You asked. I'm chasing the sky, I thought. But smiling I simply replied, "I'm climbing" You climbed into the tree as well and nudged me with a knowing smile, "climb higher." I laughed and admitted that I couldn't. Oh but I wanted to. I wanted to climb higher and higher until the ground disappeared. I wanted to chase the sky and wear the stars. I wanted to vanish and become a constellation, but your smile brought me back to the tree. You jumped and I stayed. It was only three feet but it felt like the world that separated us. "Jump, I'll catch you." "You'll drop me." "Never." I traced the bark of the tree softly and thought of my favorite bedtime story. "There once was a tree, and she loved a little boy very, very much -even more than she loved herself." I wonder now like I wondered then if I was the tree or t

He quoted my words back to me, on a day where I felt like I couldn't breathe. That's how I knew he was listening.

It's 12:07 AM You haven't texted me back. I have thoughts running circles in my head. I'm begging for a stop light, or sign, some red light flashing telling me to stop. It's 12:07 AM You're awake somewhere  Or sound asleep My thoughts are colliding And I wish my red light in the form of unguarded eyes and a charming smile would show up.

.I don't think you realize the impact of what you say. Tongues can be sharp, they can really cut someone up. Mentioning insecurities tears me apart at the seams. My heart gets this feeling where it aches like it's trying to collapse in on itself, because it doesn't know how to work with sharp tongues stabbing it. One mention of you possibly not wanting me, brings flashbacks of all the returns my heart has gone through. Where I rip it out of my chest and give it to someone and they return it like I can just restock it and reshelf it. I dont know. Right now my heart is doing the ache thing and my lungs are constricting and I dont know what to write or say.  My mind is plagued with the thoughts of the day when you give me away.

I have moments when I feel as if I can't breathe. I have moments when I'm crushingly sad for no reason. I have moments when I hate myself. I hate myself even more when I see you struggling with my moments.

You're holding back. Sucking back words creating a swirling black hole within you. Because you're afraid of the galaxies your words could create and the explosions that could occur if you bit down too hard on the words flying from your lips. I know because I do it too. Sometimes I grind my teeth and press my lips together to keep the words from spilling out. My tongue is swollen with all the words I didn't say. And all I can say to this, is that the feeling of the words resting heavily on your tongue, and the black hole sucking back your key to being understood are the worst things in the world. I wouldn't wish that upon you. I want to live in the galaxies that come pouring out of your mouth. I want to wonder how such gorgoeus galaxies can tumble from your mouth and stars fall from your eyes. I want to hear you speak. I want to listen. I want to know what sparks and explodes and destroys and unfolds. Sometimes you don't speak, And the galaxies turn into black holes.