Sometimes,

It feels like trying to lift heavy objects with eye lashes, or attempting to drag something huge through thick melted chocolate by a thread. Whatever it actually is, you know it’ll snap easily. I’ve been alone recently. Like actually alone, not the whole cut yourself off from everyone alone because when you do that solitude isn’t actually achieved. My fingers feel weaker, and slippery. I tried holding your heart for longer than I should have. You’d think my lesson would have been learned after a month of silence, but your promise of home weighed down each individual rib in a comforting sort of sadness. I don’t know what happened, where I lost it, but I looked down and what was left in my palms was nothing but old wounds reopened and salted. I feel like those thick green leaves that had started to bud and are now sinking with the weight of that snow. It looked so calm and clean, but what I realized is that frozen water is still water and whether it’s fast or still you can still drown. I tried for a while to just drink it, but my stomach is full and I’m left with a brain freeze that won’t go away.
Maybe its just midnight thoughts.
Maybe you didn’t mean to.
I’m shivering though, and it’d be nice if you could at least state that you were there. I can still feel you, whether you admit to it or not.

Do you realize how much we love you?

Every time you refuse our want to feed you, it’s like taking tiny shards of glass to the heart. I’ve watched you wither for seven years, from the beautiful young girl who saw dreams of the world, to a wisp of a human being. I’ve seen that thick, full heart of yours empty it’s love into the palms of other people at a continuous rate. Those rib bones of yours are collecting your sorrow, and if you could only take my eyes for a minute and see how much light you radiate, you might actually take that bite of chocolate cake. I know that feeling the pain of your hip bones sticking into your bed at night makes you feel in control and beautiful, but those bruises are spreading like a disease and I feel them more prominently than my own hurt. I wish for a moment that your love for the world could turn inward and feed your starving veins. Who knows what happened, maybe you convinced yourself that because your heart was stuffed your stomach needed to be empty. Or maybe you felt that love only comes from feeling your spine dig into the chair behind you. I want to give you my flesh, to pull it off of myself and warm your shivering body, but I’m starting to realize that this is not our battle. I only want you to know how much I love you, and if I lose you to this because I wasn’t brave enough to tell you that your hollowed cheeks make my stomach twist, I will never forgive myself. I bake. I feed people for a living, and I so desperately want you to eat my love. 

I would sit in your silence if you let me.

I wouldn’t question the words that couldn’t form, or the thoughts that would slip. I would hold each and every moment with care, making sure you know that your presence is not arbitrary or strange but powerful in a way that cuts me to my core. I am not good with being in the unknown, but if you asked me, I would sit in your chaos with you for however long you needed. If darkness is all you can give, let me hold it for you, I’m good at that. 

I don’t drink juice unless it’s heavily watered down,

and when I wash the dishes I sing. I get angry when people ignore me, and instead of graciously walking away and waiting for them to come to me, I consistently try and talk to them. The soles of my feet are sensitive right now, but I don’t want to wait till summer to rough them up. I can’t remember the last time I felt it, but my chart always did say I’d find home in Pisces, which sucks for me because I have no idea how to handle them apparently. I like where I am right now, I just wish I knew if you were going to talk to me again or not. It’d be as simple as a yes or no. 

The way my ribs so valiantly guard my heart,

and the way my brain rests so comfortably in my skull is the same way that home is within myself. This doesn’t mean I’ll always be in solitude, or that I can’t invite other people in, it just means that looking for home in the comfort of other peoples bed sheets and the way they mumble when they get tired is only going to lead me farther from it. My structure is strong, with a few cracks here and there, and I want to share it with someone. I suppose when the time is right. 

I used to have this dream,

Where you’d paint a monster the size of your body on my bottom bed sheet. For a while I wasn’t sure why, but then you started to say “It’s for when you wake up and I’m not here. I’m still here.” I know whatever you’re going through is something you can’t articulate. You’re not really good at articulating anything anyway, but you should know that all I want to do is be there. I don’t know who I need to be right now for you, but I’m getting scared you won’t come back. I keep glancing at my feet and seeing different foundations. Some are cracked and worn, some are new and beautiful but recently it’s just thick mud and I’m up to my knees and sinking fast. I keep seeing you pass by, your eyes glued to the ground in front of you and all I can do is yell. Maybe it’s me. Maybe you don’t want to hear me, or maybe you do and you don’t know how to answer and that’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s okay. I just have my fingers crossed that my yelling has made it so you won’t come back. 

I feel like I’m losing my grip on words. For a good week or two there I really had them. 

I had a dream I could pull my skin off layer by layer.

It wasn’t scary, or gruesome. I just sat there, pulling layer after layer from myself, looking at each one. When I got to the end of it, I was shiny. I could see my bones, and they were beautiful and sturdy and what had felt so wrong felt so perfect. 

I’ve been walking a tight rope.

My toes have been gripping it, taking tiny baby steps forward, just trying to get to the other side. Under me is this darkness that looks almost comforting, and I’ve been waiting to throw myself off, but part of me won’t let go. The rope, while it may be small is made up of tiny threads of happiness, woven together nice and strong. I know it can hold me up, I just need to walk the right way. I continue to realize just how little I know about anything, and all I can do is continue to just feel whatever it is I’m feeling in that moment. 

Right now, it hurts. Physically and emotionally. Maybe it’s just the fact that I haven’t slept all night, or that I can’t get comfortable, or that you won’t talk to me, or that I’m so lost I’m not entirely sure what comes out of my mouth anymore. 

Whatever it is, I just want to put it on pause and go to sleep. 

Those big towering Flat Irons were yours in my head.

Your hands, which always made me cry, were the ones who sculpted them. I always imagined that at one point or another you cut your heart in half and put one half in the mountains and the other half in the ocean. Unfortunately for me, that means I didn’t get any of it. I could tread on the ground that carried it. I could put my ear to the Earth, or stand on the beach and hear it then. I fell in love with a heart that wasn’t mine to begin with. It’s strange that you went from existing in everything I did, to a complete and total stranger. I wonder where those weird feet of yours will take you, and what those hands, those emotional hands, will create.