What hurt the most was knowing

You’re the person I’d want to call

post-call from Costa Rica

the way you talk when you’re vulnerable is full of pauses. you’re holding back so you don’t hurt. you say “I” and then you give a half laugh, your breath gets caught in your throat because you’re close to crying but you don’t want to let yourself, you second-guess yourself but you’re going to say it anyway – whatever it is. you’re so mad, you miss me, you’re sad or insecure or lost and don’t know how or what to do. because I hurt you

moments – summer storm

April 2017 

Pins & University

//

twirling under the first warm rain of the season, alone and free as a bird
I laugh as I take off my flats and jump in the puddles that are already forming

if only playing in this early summer storm was enough 
it would let me forget 

but how many times do I have to spin and how fast do I have to run to get away from the memories of the boy I love 
who, after all this, doesn’t think I’m enough 

But I’ll never be enough for someone who hates who they are

thunderstorms surround me
and the sharp gravel of the city streets crunches underneath my bare feet 
my blue suede skirt twirls in the purple wind; the grey-indigo sky turbulent 

As the wind becomes a roar and the caress a downpour, I follow the yellow lights back home. Hoping and dreading, knowing you’ll be there, too — 

No matter where I go or what I do, I can’t seem to get away from you

moments – our love is not God

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

homesick

I feel so alone

though the voices on my phone

tell me I am loved

the voices in my head

ask if it’s enough