Found out my crush is doing food delivery now in my town. Which means I've started ordering a lot more delivery, just for the possibility of him picking my order. Worst case scenario, a different driver shows up and I still get delicious food out of it.

Only in my most private moments am I willing to admit that I miss you. I know I shouldn’t feel guilty about missing you but I do.

I spoke to my mother today, she said to me that she believes we only truly love once in our entire lives, that no matter how many partners we may have, we will always have that one true love. She thinks I just haven’t found my one yet, but what if I have? And what if it’s you? It’s a scary thought honestly, one that’s kept me up all night.

I believe that I truly loved you, so now I’m afraid I’ll never move on, and that I’ll be hung up on someone who didn’t love me the same way I loved them.

I’m at war with myself. I hate you and then I love you, I decide I never want to see you again only to then beg the universe to see you one more time.

I wish I could tell you all this. How much I miss you, how much I still love you. And I wish I’d hear the same. Ultimately I know that would do much more harm than good, there’s a reason we’re not together anymore. You hurt me in ways I’ve never been hurt before, so even if you still cared and still loved me I’d always be struggling with the thought of whether or not the bad outweighs the good.

Anyway, that’s enough from me. I truly hope you’re okay.

All my love and mixed emotions,


Maybe I'm tired. Of you. Of this. Of circling around the kitchen sink drain, clogged with the soggy remains of someone else's oatmeal I refuse to fish out. The thoughts are just a stupid stalemate of how nice it would be to trace the veins on the underside of your arm and follow where they lead and how I should've studied more about entropy and thermodynamic equilibrium and how I hate that raging headache caused by the odd mixture of caffeine dependence, unfounded worry, and a cold that's almost as stubborn as the peeling skin on my fingers. I'm sleeping well despite it all, curled underneath enough blankets to have the sort of weight that promises a crude substitute for emotional intimacy that's complacent to the slug out of bed in the morning tempered by the slow settling shock that the night is already over.

There's no fun little metaphors for it. Stripped down to the bare visual language of it all, the chair covered with unfinished projects, crumpled laundry, barely opened used textbooks, and unproductive sentimental hoarding might as well be Malevich's Black Square hung in the corner in some reference to Orthodox icons. Even striving for independence or "newness" or simplicity, it's referencing those old holding patterns. Some habits you don't break. You just ignore them around everyone else. But they always come back once you go home.

The carpet still feels the same against the skin of my cheek, rough and undemanding. It burns my knees the same way it did as a child. The sun rises through the same window. The coffee pot sits in the same corner. The walls are the same color. Someone still hasn't vacuumed. The small pieces of paper, last crumbs, pencil shavings, they're all larger than the looming future and easier to pin the unease on.

Might as well be a memory, but something has shifted in me. I feel it in the bottom of my stomach, hanging like a water droplet caught on the faucet right before it falls. I have to know what I'm doing now. I promise, I didn't lie when I said I hadn't dreamed of anything past that moment. I don't have any foresight, any ambition, just the sneaking suspicion that maybe I wasn't meant to be around right now. Hell, I don't have a bucket list. Maybe a black truck will just come out of nowhere in the rain, no headlights, just tumbling down the ravine. Maybe, I'll just stop breathing. Surely, the fog in front of me is only because I wasn't meant to cross the river to begin with.

Do you miss me? I don't think you do. Even if you do, you shouldn't. I bear the weight of your silence. I remember your face. And how now I think there must be something broken in me to be so comfortable sitting across the river, mirroring other's movements, pretending small talk sets the posts for bridges. Don't touch me. I couldn't bare it. Having the stiffening reflex read as fear. Even if it partially is... Just the sort of holding pattern that would take too long to explain, require too much of me without enough security, the soggy remains of someone else's oatmeal clogging the drain...



This is selfish, but I miss the way I felt around you. I miss you.

I want to hold your face gently in my hands. I want to look into your eyes and see if you can read them. Even if you can't I'll tell you: you are everything. Everything. I feel warm and whole with you. Stay. Please stay.

The first time we met our spirits reached out and touched each other. My heart recognized you before my eyes understood who you were.

The problem wasn’t finding you. The problem is forgetting you.

The problem isn’t your absence. The problem is that I’m waiting for you.

I never knew it was possible to constantly have someone on your mind like this, and to feel deep loving feelings like this.

I think my love has turned into some sort pleasant, frightening form of insanity.

This isn't a crush but an appreciation post for Chemistry Professor.

I applied for a huge internship and he was there for the interview and basically cheering me on the whole way. He knew that I didn't get the internship today when I was talking to him and knew I would find out today. Tonight, he sent me an email asking if I would like to join his summer research team and ask if I was okay after not getting the internship.

Bless the hearts of those who treat others kindly and who genuinely care.

I imagine that a lot of people fell for you the same way I did. You’re so charismatic and you don’t even know it. You just exist and I fall. Lord.