She speaks in sorry sentences
Miraculous repentances
I don’t believe her

Tomorrow, he will come to me
and speak his sorrows endlessly
and he’ll ask me why,
Why can’t I leave her?

winter, 2012-2013

The first thing I saw…
I’ll say it again and again
It’s funny, almost
Morbidly anti-romantic
soap operatic 

a little girl’s song

Oh, I’m gonna go to New Mexico
And no one will know where I went
And every moment spent will be my own.

Oh, I’m gonna buy me a rusted old pick up truck
Weathered and beaten but pretty, like me
And everyone in the town will see that I’m fine

Fat huckleberries and sunflower seeds
And corn by the roadside I’ll sell,
And it will all be just as well, because I am grown

Oh, I’m gonna go to New Mexico
And no one will know where I am
My secret evil plan for being alone

Yellow tomatoes and sugar-snap peas
And more by the roadside I’ll sell,
And it will all be just as well, because I am home

Oh, I’m gonna go to New Mexico
And no one will know where I flew
'Cause a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do,


There was a moment when he said it was the last time we would play together and my eyes got a little bit wet, but I didn’t let the tears fall.

I never let the tears fall, for any of the boys I’ve loved, but one lingered in the corner of my eye on the window seat of the subway on the way to school, listening to the songs we had sung together. 


A story in which nothing happens; 
Only the trees grow, the wind blows. 
A story in which time trundles on, endless and unstoppable. Tragedies happen and happiness occurs, but what of it? 
Time goes on, the grass withers and rises, and the sun continues to shine. 

do you ever have this thing where - 
you know you’ve written something down before, and you really want to revisit it, but you cannot for the love of god find it anywhere, not on the internet, not in your journal, not on your phone

temporary insanity - 
a temporary loss of control over the state of my life.
the condition of my side of the room mirrors the condition of my mind:
my head no longer on my shoulders, but i feel it spinning, far away.
the suitcases that still lay by my bed, untouched for the last four weeks, except for the mess of clothes i’ve stuffed in them, lest they take over the rest of my room (the shirts in a limbo between clean and dirty, the jeans i’m too lazy to hang up but can’t bear to toss into the laundry basket)
i have the worst time cleaning up my room (the clutter is the worst of all, to tackle) because the categories in my mind that exist for everything i own are too complicated to execute in reality. i reach over for my journal on my nightstand but find it buried under a small, cracked mirror, my prism glasses, my old ipod touch, a baggie of hair ties, and another small notebook. lying precariously next to them are my makeup primer, tweezers, the old cases for my iphone and ipod, all threatening to fall to the ground at the slightest nudge. nevermind, i think, maybe it’s not the best idea to read my journal. maybe it would be best to never read it at all, to never touch it again, until perhaps one day i move out of this apartment and pack this stuff up.
i have no control. it’s driving me crazy. no, i take that back. it’s driving me back, into myself and pushed against the cavity of my empty chest, and i’m nestling in this cool dark space with my hands over my ears and eyes squeezed shut.

you do things - weird, silly, maybe obsessive things - just to feel closer to a person. to feel like your heart is near the other’s heart, maybe you can hear what they’re thinking, feel what they’re feeling. and that, by reaching out, you can almost touch them in an other-worldly manner, undefined in this sickening three dimensional place that our bodies are trapped in. 

It’s almost hard to remember how real your life is at some place, sometimes. Until you’re back walking the streets, bathed in the cold air, smelling the city smells. And now it seems more significant than before, the things that will change and the ones who have left.

Saying goodbye has such a bitter taste. It’s pungent and heavy and bubbles from deep inside, leaving your stomach sour and your throat tight.
I felt so sad for a little while, and I didn’t want to go. It doesn’t get easier each time. But then the feeling fades and you move on.