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....