Short Lines & Small Circles

You said you hurt me. You kept your promise. She told you that you’d end up liking me. She was right.

I thought I could handle all of the above. I was wrong. The fucked up part? I loved you on purpose. I saw something different in you. Something special in you. Sure, I could’ve judged you by your friends. Afterall, that’s what I was told to do. I can’t name one good thing anyone had to say about you– with the exception of your sister. Not one. Yet I fell for that small smile you always gave after a pleasant surprise. The warmth on your face that told me I was getting to you. Snapshots that replayed in my mind every time I deleted your number out of my phone.

My snapshots > The ones cascaded of you on social networks.

The game had changed. The vacuum had shattered. Dancing on possibility was interrupted with harsh realities. Funny. I thought I was the one with the fucking issues. It’s the lies that bother me. It’s the fact that our first conversation was one about self-proclaimed “bad bitches” and what they lack, and how meticulous choices was the key to having a long run. Here I am though, scrolling through my phone of you and your cougar. For someone who wanted to experience firsts with their partner, you sit very well in family photos. Photo shoots on beds that probably smell like 4 different perfumes.

See, there I go talking shit. And really, the situation isn’t worth it.

… That. And it’s too easy.

End of the day, you don’t deserve me. The pictures that I paint are too beautiful. My imagination is too extraordinary. Afterall, I started out believing in you and me. Extraordinarily. I almost started to think I was missing out. After the smoke, I wondered how I could be so blind. Yet, where it seemed like they had a fraction of it all, they have it all in common. Only we can tell this story. My character can be written out of the story and no one would miss it. I save myself. I save my heart and I save face.

Yes, I care that much.

It’s just a shame looking back… I was ready to give you too much.

I can’t say I wasted my time. Nope! That’d be a lie. You showed me what was possible. Wait, before you pat yourself on the back. It wasn’t what you did, but the way I responded to you. I didn’t think I could still do that. I didn’t know I’d ever feel like that… again. I wasn’t sure I could give that. What that? What I did for you, felt for you, gave of myself …to you.

It still lives in me.

Love.

I can still cook that up and serve it warm. I can still inspire a blush, a gush and shed a light of sincerity through the darkness. I can inspire a cold heart. I can sway a stubborn mind.

I can make someone mine.

I made you want to love me.

I did that. And, I didn’t know I could still do that. I may have gotten lucky a few times and it happened accidentally. The relationship type. This girl made it fun. Best of both? I guess that was a part of living in mine.

But you. Something about you made me want to. It was my gift to you and though I’m not sure if you deserved it, I’m glad you received it.

So thank you, I guess.

For everything. For the memories.

And for reminding me… that I still know how to be with someone, and give them what really is the very best part of me.

*Readers, Happy Thanksgiving from whoever’s kitchen I’m eating in (bc you all know I’m not cooking) to your’s. xo

My knuckles bleed from the cement. Trying to climb this wall. Red everywhere. Peppermint roses. Wet knuckles. Cupid’s arrows. Broken hearts. No one understands me like you do. I keep looking for the you in them. I stare in empty eyes. Caress the cold shoulders. Warm kisses from lost souls. Intense strokes from boys. I missed being with a man. I hated speaking on what I never had to mention– wondering what I never had to ask. When we were sleeping, I wanted him to squeeze when I sneezed. I wanted to not wake up and wonder why he left. I wanted to actually sleep when we slept. And when I smiled and said, “Good morning…” I wanted him to make me blush. Was I asking too much?

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