I haven’t written to you in a while because I’ve been missing you more lately, which makes it harder for me to remember your face. I close my eyes and pull up your uneven cheekbones and long hair but the details blur together when my heart contracts at the thought of you walking away from me that last time, the way I know you forgot about me the moment you turned away, how you wouldn’t think about how hard it was raining and how long I would have to wait for the train. When I don’t want you here as much, when I’m having a good day or I think that I’ve fallen in love, you’re clearer to me than you were when you were alive.
I’m one of those people who waits for things to happen to me. One of those people who doesn’t choose, and some morning I wake up and wonder if you were like me, or if you chose everything that came at you towards the end. None of it was good, but somehow I think it was the latter.
I’m not in love yet. I’m just involved with people who need a placeholder as much as I do. I think we convinced ourselves that was all we could ask for. I always wake up before him and climb out of bed and go to class without touching him. When I come back, he’s gone and I don’t really care, except for the fact that I know he doesn’t either. I’m like that, Laura. I need to hurt about the things that I don’t love.
the man i am in love with once grabbed my ear and slapped me across the face. he kissed my bloody lip hard and told me that what i’m looking for is somewhere between the concrete and soil. when i think about how i love him an alarm goes off somewhere and i bury my hands in my blankets or rest my fingertips on the peak of an open flame. i think about swimming and how i never enjoyed it but stayed in the water for hours to know what it was like to stay afloat.