I was lying next to you last night and couldn't help but feel lucky-
to be alive at the same time as you;
to feel your steady heartbeat drumming against my back;
to get to kiss you and rub my face against your stubble whenever I want to;
to share a wonderful life with a patient, kind human being;
to know that when I woke up this morning you might be looking at me like you have lost everything and found it again.
I miss you. So much. How long can you carry someone around in your heart for before it stops beating?
i love this website. it is so comforting to know that if i can't talk to a friend or family member about my crush, i can always come here and you guys are able to listen. thank you. thank you so much.
She scares the hell out of me and calms my soul at the same time. Maybe that’s what love is—a total contradiction that somehow balances out.
I went back to our spot in the park tonight. I laid down on the dead grass field. You used to worry about getting your hair messed up and I'd have to bring blankets to lay on and flashlights to show you for the 1000th time that there were no bugs. It was so quiet without you. As I laid there looking at the stars that we used to look at, at the sky you may be staring at now, I was overcome with this realization of the immensity of the universe. Like the sky in its vastness had enveloped me. Then came the tears. I've never loved anyone like I loved you. Maybe you knew that, but maybe it didn't matter. My cries became yells and next thing I knew, I was screaming in agony. I'm angry because it was no one's fault. I can't exactly walk up to our circumstances and beat them up. There's no obstacle to overcome, and that makes it that much harder to get over it.
After you moved, I used to look up what constellations were visible where you lived. And every night, I would go to our spot and look at your sky on my phone. Your sky. If only it were ours again.
I don't know if you've moved on, or if you even think of me from time to time. Maybe you have, and I am the blubbering fool on the grass in the middle of a park on Friday night, trying to find meaning in something—anything.
I miss you.
I met this girl at karaoke night in my local bar. She got up and sang Fight Song by Rachel Platten. She was a first time performer, and was absolutely breathtakingly incredible- you could tell that she was really experiencing the lyrics, her emotion was raw.
I happened to run into her later in the evening, and we had a bit of a chat. I told her that her performance was fantastic, and she blushed and shook her head...saying she was embarrassed that she had even done it. Said that a boy had just recently broken her heart by leaving her for someone else, and she felt that she needed to spite him by not giving in to laying down and giving up as she normally would. She was pretty tipsy at this point, so she told me about things that she normally wouldn't. Like her suicide attempt a year before, the fact that she currently drinks to numb her mind, and how she doesn't really believe she'll ever even graduate college- but has a 'fake it till you make it' attitude.
Through the rest of the night she cracked jokes, jokes that were so witty it took me a few moments to get. And she confessed that she's obsessed with One Direction, but also has a very alternative music preference so 'don't judge her for that'. She told me about her little brother, and how when she was 18 she took him in after her father's death. She's been supporting him, working full-time, and going to school to be a trauma nurse for 4 years now.
I didn't get her number, or even ask, as I didn't want her to think I was preying on her vulnerability. But honestly guys, it's been 2 weeks and my heart is still jumping out of my chest every time I think about her. It's possible that I may have found the love of my life, and I hope that the universe will somehow bring us back together. Even if it's a silly, far-fetched thought.
So Cera, if you read this...please know that you are one of the most beautiful, INCREDIBLE people I have ever had the pleasure to meet. I hope you're doing alright out there.
When I let you become my happiness, I forgot everything else that is important to me. A little slip up on your part crushed me. That's my fault. I put too much stock in you for barely knowing you. This won't happen again.
Stop being so nice to me. Stop being so understanding and sweet and funny. Stop asking me how my day was, if I had fun or not, what I think about things. Stop telling me about your life, about all the things you never tell anyone else, about your thoughts and opinions. Stop.
Stop being you.
Please stop, because it's so much easier to pretend to be over you when you're tired and stressed and busy and sick. It's so much easier to believe that you don't care about me at all. It's so much easier to think that you take me for granted, that you don't consider me your friend, that you don't want me to be around you. It's so much easier when you're unkind to me. Maybe it hurts more, because it makes me feel hopeless, but that's why it's easier. To hope is to be heartbroken.
I can't do this. I can't keep scanning crowds for your face. I can't take the ice cream that you push into my hands, ice cream that you haven't even touched yet and are offering to me, and eat it. I can't let you feed me and poke spoonfuls of sweetness into my mouth. I can't walk next to you and bump into your arm and feel you stay there and lean back into me. I can't feel the back of mine brush yours and not think about trying to hold your hand. I can't sit on your bed, surrounded by everything that smells like you, and listen to you talk about your day. I can't accept your offers of blankets and agree to go through all your stories with you. I can't lie down next to you and feel the crown of my head brush yours. I can't look over at you and see your face an inch away from mine, smiling up at a screen that you're sharing with me. I can't roll onto my side and rest my hand on your shoulder and feel the fabric of your shirt under my fingertips, the only barrier between my skin and yours. I can't feel your chest rising at the same time as mine as we inhale together. I can't breathe in and pretend that I'm not trying to fill my lungs with as much of you as I can. I can't get up off your bed and pretend that I want nothing more than for you to ask me to stay. I can't wake you up in the mornings and pretend that seeing you sleepy and safe and so so young isn't my favourite thing ever.
I can't do this anymore.
(I never could. But still I fell for you. I still jumped off the cliff and didn't even realize that I was falling until everything else was a blur around me, until I saw nothing but you.)
You think you're being nice to me, and you are. And when you do, you make me so, so happy - happy enough that everything feels perfect and it even feels like maybe, maybe, you could feel the same about me. I know that there's no point in hoping, but when you're this nice to me, when you're sweet and kind and thoughtful and understanding, I can't help myself. You make every moment with you feel like everything is painted in technicolor, and every moment without you is nothing but grey ash.
I just... can't.
The only way to distract myself would be to cut you out completely, but I can't do that to you. You would be so confused and so hurt, because you'd thought we were just friends. I can deal with my own pain, my own hurting. But I can't deal with yours.
Wanting something that I can never have is not something that ever ends well.
It hurts. It hurts when you stop. It feels like someone is reaching a hand into my chest, knocking all my ribs aside and wrenching my heart out from behind my sternum. I can't stop thinking about you.
But at least this way I don't hope.
E = hv
I made a cute guy nervous today. I never thought I would have the ability to do that, but I did.
He always comes to Starbuck's, every Saturday. He always gets a cheese danish to accompany his drink. Over time, I've noticed and have remembered his name. He showed up on a Tuesday. Noticing his unscheduled attendance, I took on register, just so I could ring him out and talk to him.
"...and a cheese danish too, please"
"Are those even any good? I feel like they're gross.."
"Only when they're warmed. They make a great quick snack."
"That makes sense. Dave right?"
He seemed shocked I remembered his name, and I saw his face grow flush. He got a little confused and even grabbed his empty cup from beside me that was waiting to be made. Laughing and sufficiently embarrassed, he walked away.
Maybe next time I'll get the courage to write my number on his cup. Is that lame? (asking for a friend)