There are reasons why you're still a good thing and this is one of them.

I texted you first and even though I said that my car was backed into in a parking lot you called me the second you got that message. You didn't even think.

I said hello and you went, "You okay?"

Didn't even think.

And then we were getting off the phone and you said you loved me and I responded and then there was a pause and your voice got quiet. And you said, smally, hesitatingly, vulnerably,

"Love you."

I know. I really do.

Don't think I don't know that you got scared because I do. I was in a car that someone hit and even though it was less than a fender bender, you couldn't stand the thought of me being remotely close to hurt.

But also don't think that I don't feel exactly the same way about you. Right now I don't even care whether or not I should feel that way, but I do.

"I meant the kind of beauty that consumes another person. It's a surprise that you're so beautiful and that your heart is swung wide open."

Maybe it's me that's left this bad taste in my mouth. 

It means a lot to me. More than you know. Too often the people that are close to me disregard how I feel or act because they think it's unjustified and ridiculous. And most times I laugh it off, but it's rarely fun to have parts of myself dismissed like that. 

Best Friend never does it. She always makes sure to listen and respect what I'm saying, no matter how off the mark I may be. She'll tell me when I need to tone it down but she never dismisses outright how I'm feeling.

And it's huge to me that you don't dismiss me either. That you still don't quite get why certain things are a big deal, but you'll respect it. You are so good at making me feel validated and I'm so grateful for that.

So, yeah. It means a lot. And it feels like, whatever weirdness we're in right now, you're still good. This is still good. And different. And GOOD. 

Thank you. 

Vivid.

It was that second night. When we were so desperate just to touch each other that we ran out of the building, searching for somewhere to be together. Pushing each other into the bushes and kissing hard and laughing and just pushing closer closer.

And being in the open air with you. How it was so cold on that December night but we didn't care, we just kept stripping each other so we could be closer closer and out in the open. How the wind kept rustling through the trees and how I was staring up looking at the stars through the lattices but then looking down to see your grinning face.

And how it felt to be afterwards, with my head against your chest and knowing there was nowhere else I'd rather be. Feeling completely soaked up in you and in that moment and being so filled of you of us of that togetherness.

It's things like this that I'm afraid of letting out and of writing about. Because this is the good stuff and if I start I won't be able to stop and now I can't stop thinking of how freeing it was to be with her that night in that place and I can't get caught up in this because then I'll drown. 

These are the good words and these are the words that scare me about writing these days. 

For the record. I can't remember a single song that played that first night but I remember the way it all sounded and it was the perfect soundtrack and god I wish I could remember those songs. The soundtrack of that night is still on an endless loop in my head.

Other People's Words

Where you used to be,
there's a hole in the world, 
which I find myself constantly
walking around in the daytime,
and falling into at night.

I miss you like hell.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Augh. These words are not good ones, man. Not good writing. It's embarrassing.

The problem is I'm afraid. I'm afraid to write the truth because if I did then I wouldn't be able to stop and I can't handle that right now.

But my words are suffering because of that fear and I can tell.

The Sound of Silence

The one thing they don't get
is how much I crave these hours when I'm alone

They look at me like they're worried like they pity it
and they don't believe me when I say no no
I need to sink into this feeling my ears need to recognize the sound of aloneness
Because I spent so much of my life fearing being the only one in the room
and I'm still getting comfortable with this feeling of solitude
but I love it and I need to like it and that's more than okay

and I don't want you to see the tears that still come regularly
because they're mine to wipe away (or should be wiped away by the lost girl)
and so I need to be here alone to feel these things that are here

So don't pity me for needing to be comfortable in my own company.
I need this, I do. 

The rug was pulled out from under me (by my own doing) and I'm still standing.

I'm gonna make it through this, I promise you that.