When they ask me about my future wife, I always tell them that her eyes are the only Christmas lights that deserve to be seen all year long. I tell them that she has a walk that can make an atheist believe in God just long enough to say, ‘God damn’. I tell them that if my alarm clock sounded like her voice, my snooze button would collect dust. I tell them that if she came in a bottle, I would drink her until my vision is blurry and my friends take away my keys. I tell them that if she was a book, I would memorize her table of contents. I would read her, cover to cover, hoping to find typos, just so we could both have something to work on, because aren’t we all unfinished?
Some people say that there´s no place like home, but actually, Dorothy Gale said that. You have given me hope to believe in love again, when i thought i would never be able to; you have defeated my defenses so i could open my heart again and let you in. All of this because of you. With you, i feel i´m home, i feel the warmth and peace and all of that cheesy things i can show you without being so sarcastic. I can say, with all my blushing that i love you, in front of everyone, i love you. And i promise you, that no matter wether you shine like a sun, or if you fall defeated on my lap, i will love you when you are a still day, i will love you when you are a hurricaine.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that I do.
A veces uno amanece con ganas de extinguirse… Como si fuéramos velitas sobre un pastel de alguien inapetente. A veces nos arden terriblemente los labios y los ojos y nuestras narices se hinchan y somos horribles y lloramos y queremos extinguirnos… Así es la vida, un constante querer apagarse y encenderse.
I’m not sure how to get home,
so I’m outside your apartment.
I should tell you, I went
for the double whiskey sour.
and then a few whiskeys more.
I’m still much better at drinking
than stopping, unfortunately.
Earlier they were strippers, oiled
and beautiful, spinning like meat
on a spit. Earlier I thought of you.
How you were far away, where my hand
couldn’t wrap around the curve
of your thigh.
The sidewalks are glittering
from the rain and you are still
beautiful. This is me
throwing pebbles. If you want to,
please let me in.
I want to curl into the sweet expanse
of your back. I want to wake up,
make you coffee, make you laugh,
make myself into the person
who is worthy of you. You
have been strong so much longer
than I’ve been good.
To speak it simply now:
you are the whole of my heart.
You are the choke on my beer.
You are the last voice
before I shuffle off this mortal shitshow.
The constellations whispering to me
there will never be another one
like you. I want it written on my tombstone.
Let our love be how I’m remembered.
Find what you love and let it kill you.
Let it drain you of your all. Let it cling onto your back and weigh you down into eventual nothingness.
Let it kill you and let it devour your remains.
For all things will kill you, both slowly and fastly, but it’s much better to be killed by a lover.
~ Falsely yours
Break my heart? Is that what you just said? I have news for you; you didn’t break my heart. My heart’s fine. My heart’s in the best shape of its life. You know what you did to me? You took an AK-47 and blew my soul open.
I knew you before I met you. I knew your cheeks would be made of sunshine. I knew rays of light would spill from your lips with your every smile. I knew you.
Sometimes you look at me and you ask me what I’m thinking. I smile, and I say “Nothing.” Truly, though, it is something. It’s the most beautiful something I’ve ever known.
-Do you still think i will destroy you?
-Yes, women always do that.
-I´m not a bomb, Ibrahim; i bleed as well, i had told you what i think about you, and more than once said how i felt, and you said how you felt.
-But that doesn´t change anything.
-Of what? “To love is to destroy, and to be loved is the one destroyed”, it does change something: you had opened to me.
-Damn, i never should have done that.
-You could have chosen not to say anything about yourself; you could have said no, but you did anyway. Are you afraid of me?
-I´m afraid of being hurt again.
-I wouldn´t break you.
-How could you know?
-Let me try, let me in.
-You are already too close.
-I won´t explode.
-It´s like you´re getting into the danger zone.
-Stop resisting me, i´m not kryptonite..
Alice: How long is forever?
White Rabbit: Sometimes, just one second.
I think about you when I see that blue melted ice cream color or when I touch a rusty nail and its flaky skin rubs off on mine. You’re always wearing black in my memories and I can feel my thumb track down your waist, guided by your sweater’s seam.