What hurt the most was knowing
You’re the person I’d want to call
making meaning
What hurt the most was knowing
You’re the person I’d want to call
Vancouver, May 2016:
a late spring night,
watching the city lights
reflect on the water
discovering
a tall dark stranger
$2 soft-serve from McDonald’s for dinner
his kiss tastes like vanilla
Once I get home,
I’m watching my phone
waiting
refreshing
waiting
alone
nothing.
once again, it meant nothing
I roll over in my borrowed bed
Book a bus ticket for this weekend instead
What does it matter?
This isn’t my home
I set off to the next place
alone
mornings are good times to travel
because everything is new & full of potential
conquering the world in the dark and unknown
is only okay when you’re traveling home
January 2018 – Costa Rica
The light disappeared slowly, then all at once over the horizon. It was like in the middle of the day when all I wanted was for the sun to go away because it was too strong and I didn’t want to burn but then it was gone
and I’m only left with stars
well, the fluorescent lights that replace them in the city night
that I thought were so pretty from afar
but they aren’t warm like you are
February 2017
“This Town” – Niall Horan / “Suburbia” – Troye Sivan
//
after feeling it all fall apart with the boy upstairs, visions of Heathers dance in my head
as I lie in the darkness, alone in bed.
So scared of losing the God I used to idealize
I know I’m supposed to draw, or sleep, but all I can do is wait and play these two songs on repeat
Snow falls on the cold city outside my window
where everyone I care about
is out
without me
Night lights
blue black and purple-grey clouds
obscure the illusory love with fog and doubt
Nostalgia embedded in every street of the blue neighborhood in California I used to inhabit
Was it ever real? The love Lana sings about? The one that matters, the one that I so badly want to feel
I always think I have it
until a month goes by, and it’s no longer ride-or-die.
they were never what I wanted; it’s the idea I’ve always been in love with.
desperately mourning something that never was
March 16, 2017
It’s dark in your bed, but outside the window there’s city lights
Our hands clasped
On the edge of a cliff, I’m holding on for dear life
What does it mean? What matters?
And love? It’s alright
Sharing soft words I didn’t know you knew,
You ask me things I don’t let myself think in the daylight