greenthing

The best I can put it is that you stopped making sense and that is why I am sitting here without you. Somewhere down the line our jokes stopped being funny and the way you eat noodles started to gross me out and hugging you began to feel like mourning. I couldn’t get within ten feet of you without wanting to cry. I wish that could sum it up, but it doesn’t because I’m not sure you can sum up dead love. I’m not sure you can really even talk about it much without wanting to beat on its chest and breathe all of your breath into its lungs and beg for it to live again, and I think that’s the worst part of it. The tragedy is not in its death. The tragedy is in the panic of trying to keep it alive.

People change. You grow with them or you grow apart. Maybe it’s not as sad as it sounds. And maybe it doesn’t have to end in heartbreak. Maybe it can end decently. Maybe it can be thank you for being part of my life. Thank you for loving me when I needed to be loved and thank you for letting me love you. Thank you for watering me and shining light on me and helping me stay alive during the Winters I couldn’t feel anything but loss. Thank you for sticking around this long. I’m not giving back the shirt you let me borrow because I like it too much, not because I’m trying to be mean. I hope you do well. I’ll miss you.

brittanynatasha:

Trust the pull. You’ll end up exactly where you need to be.

I remember I wrote about being alone maybe a year into this blog and tossed in a Reese’s Pieces metaphor or something and someone I had been following copy and pasted it as a quote and put it on their blog and that was really cool to see, but there’s something a little bit cooler about visiting a random blog and seeing something I wrote a while ago on there as its own little piece of life. 

I don’t know. I’m very moved right now. Maybe that’s dumb, but I’m still being moved. It’s still happening. I’m being moved as I type this. Probably going to be moved for the rest of the night.  

I had been trying to come up with a six word story that meant something. What was in that delicious sandwich? No. Maybe I should have worn pants. No. We’re all going to die anyway. Maybe. 

Something boomed outside. 

“What was that?” 

“A firework.”

“A firework?”

“It’s the Fourth of July.”

July.

And then I found it. 

I really wanted to love you. 

I wanted to love you in the middle of Summer by a lake, half naked and laughing at the way your face looked after staring at the Sun for too long. I wanted your hair full of sand and your shivers to sprawl across my favorite towel and to hear your voice push itself through chattering teeth, “I think I stayed in too long”. I wanted to create new freckles and shitty poems with you as we thawed out under a July afternoon. 

I really wanted to love you. 

Just watched a five year old girl spit mouthful after mouthful of water on a bunch of dress shirts and then laugh at herself after each spew and I will always choose a five day long vagina bleed each month until I’m 51 over growing one of those parasites referred to as a child in my uterus and having to deal with it until I am dead.

I heard some girl talking to her boyfriend today and it was a surprisingly human conversation, but I think he was getting needy because all of the sudden she said, “No. I can’t see you tomorrow. I’m sorry, I just have to be alone. I just really need time to be by myself, okay?”, and I’m guessing by the way the conversation continued that he didn’t object or whine or bitch about the girl needing to have space to be by herself. I wanted to look up from the magazine I was reading and say YOU GO, GIRL, but I didn’t because she so obviously didn’t need my support. Good for her and her ability to be in love with someone while also not forgetting to be in love with herself. I think that’s where most of us go wrong.