Author: Sunny

✨️ happy, free, confused, and lonely at the same time. ❤️‍🔥

A Glass Castle.

Terrifying.

That’s the word that comes to mind when I think of telling someone my deepest insecurities. You’re basically giving someone the power to turn your heart into ground hamburger meat. Although terrifying, you feel such freedom having spoken those insecurities out loud – as if you have given them over to someone else to care of for a while.

You’re somehow lighter.

So, I tell you.

I tell you and I close my eyes really tight and no explosions go off around me. The world doesn’t collapse in on itself. Volcanoes don’t erupt. Streets don’t cave into sink holes.

Everything is still okay. You look at me the way you always have. Nothing seems to have changed.

I’ve lightened my load – unzipped the backpack on my back entitled ‘childhood traumas, bullshit I deem necessary to carry, and emotional baggage’ taken out a few items and handed them over to you.

Nothing seems to have changed, but really – everything has changed.

How could it not have changed?

Not only do you have the power to break my heart, but you have the power to break me.

But I trusted you with that power, A.

I really thought you would never use it. Never wield it against me.

But you do.

And if I could sum up in four words how it made me feel – I would say,

it

blew

me

away.

Into another universe. Completely obliterated me –

blew

me

the

fuck

away.

But if you wanted to know a more detailed explanation of how it devastated me –

I would tell you to imagine a glass castle.

A castle where everything is entirely made of glass.

Mirrors line the glass walls in every glass room.

The day you wielded my deepest insecurities against me like a sword,

all the glass and all the mirrors shattered at the same time.

I imagine you snapping your fingers once and the castle is in shards at my bloody feet.

–

It took me a long time to find the words to say how you hurt me, how you devastated me.

To this day, I still don’t understand why you picked up that sword.

Do you know that it is impossible to rebuild a glass castle from nothing but piles of glass shards?

You have no choice, but to build yourself back up, but stronger.

–

I don’t wish you great pain like the pain you have shown me. I simply wish you whatever the Universe feels you deserve in this life. Whether that is great pain or great joy – is none of my business.

–

You should at the very least prepare yourself for emotional sword-wielding monsters.

Because the Universe’s cousin – Karma, is a motherfucker.

–S.

Dad’s Birthday Card via 2014.

You are peace of mind when I’ve watched a scary movie and can’t go to sleep.

You are words that I don’t want to hear, but need to listen to.

You are sweets after your daily nap.

You have always been very hard on me and with age I have realized it was all to make me better.

Thank you for all of the laughter over the years.

I hope with time I am able to continue to make you proud.

You are a strong man whose sacrifices for his family are endless.

I hope I learn to fear less one day. I hope my future husband can look at me with the same magnitude of love in your eyes when you look at mama.

I owe you all of the video cards in the world.

–S.

Nice 2 Meet You Again.

You’ve been getting drunk and going out with friends to sing karaoke and dance at night clubs. In those moments – you really feel infinite. You can’t feel the heartbreak. It’s almost like nothing even happened. Almost like he’s still yours.

You’re coming home to him, only to find out that your bed is empty. I know what you’re thinking: One, what are you going to do with all of the things you know about him? All of the things in your head. Can you erase it? Can we file it away? Can we fax it to his new girlfriend? Two, it’s exhausting to keep reintroducing yourself to someone in hopes that they will fall for you.

What is he doing with all of the information that he has collected about you? You want to bet me money that he doesn’t even care about half of it.

See, the truth is that you are worth knowing. You are worth loving.

He probably never knew that your favorite color was purple, that it makes you really sad that you are allergic to lavender, that you still cry every time you watch the Notebook, and that you get jealous when your sister gets close to someone.

You were ready to commit to him. He was going to be your one, forever.

But how could he be your one if he didn’t appreciate these things about you? Your one will appreciate your quirks. They will adore all of the things that make you uniquely you. You have a story. No one on this planet could ever be you.

We are all a kaleidoscope of a million different things. Things we have picked up from school, books, music, television, movies, magazines, life, death, love, heartbreak, loss. All of those little pieces gorilla-glued together to make a collage – a you.

So stop thinking that you’re not worth it. Don’t let him ruin it for the real one. Don’t shut yourself off in the dark, and collect a string of one night stands. It’s not worth it.

You’re a lover. A romantic. Hold onto that. Don’t kill that.

More importantly, don’t allow someone who cared so little kill something that you care so much about. You have always believed in love.

Believe in love – again.

Always, again –  always, one more time.

–S.

I Hope You Get My Letter.

An excerpt from a letter that I wrote years ago to my then best-friend who went into the Air Force.

First and foremost, I am a writer. I think that my best writing comes from the darkest of places, and sometimes I have dry periods where I am not motivated to write any words. It has taken me a long while to share anything because rarely do people care about one another on that deep of a level.

Sometimes you don’t even want to heart your own voice. Not because I have been depressed or anything. I’m okay. I’m good. You just get tired of it – as with all things. The day is July 8th and the time is 1:31 am. Like the summer nights that have come before this one – I can never go to sleep before three or four in the morning.

My apologies. I feel that we left things in such an awkward place that sometimes I think – will we ever come back from that? I know that you have bigger things going on in your life and it doesn’t really compare to what friendships are going to survive or not. That’s how we are, I know. You’re with me or you’re not. But I also know that sometimes we have to swallow our pride, a million times over, and just speak.

So, here I am.

I’d like to tell you about myself. If you ever start feeling like you’re in a prison – I hope these words help you find a way out in your mind. I hope you find it in your heart to smile while reading my words and maybe even laugh.

Lord knows we need all the laughter we can get,

but I’ll probably be doing a lot of crying.

–S.

Gifts.

Eight Years Ago.

My brother was born the day before my father’s birthday.

For the last ten years, he’s been his greatest gift.

Every year, we make a party celebrating the both of them.

As I watched my parents this weekend – putting everything together, my mind drifted over the twenty-three different ways my birthday was celebrated over the years.

I always wanted more from my parents. The most expensive gift. More gifts. A better birthday cake. No homemade food, give me pizza. Give me a thousand different colored balloons. Get me a new birthday outfit. Every year should be better than the last.

I watched them clean the entire house. I watched them decorate it. I watched them prepare all of the food. I watched my mom make the cake. I watched them prepare the porch for the guests that were coming. I realized in all of these moments that I spent so much of my younger years wishing for more that I overlooked all of the present moments.

I never realized how hard they tried. I never appreciated the things that they did give.

I didn’t count the roof over my head as a gift. I didn’t care about their full-time jobs. I didn’t count the shoes on my feet and the clothes on my back.

I didn’t need a car on my sixteenth birthday or gold earrings from ‘Santa Claus.’

I needed to learn the art of appreciation.

If I could talk to a younger version of my self, I would help her to start appreciating mom and dad earlier. I would tell her to not allow it to take twenty some odd years to make certain realizations.

Start now.

They are amazingly complicated people in their own right, but breath deep and be patient.

Let them surprise you.

Time with them is the ultimate gift.

I’d tell her.

-S.

If.

If you were here, I’d come pick you up at 1:30 am.

We would stop at McDonald’s and pick up all the food and drinks that are the worst.

I’d put on a playlist that I made that night. It would be filled with all of our favorite songs at the moment. Sometimes I would sing lead and you would sing back-up and then we would trade places.

I would look over at you and see that you are hanging halfway out of the window taking in the summer breeze that only happens at night. You’d be sipping your soda and a bug would hit your face while we are speeding down the highway to the airport. You’d erupt in a big cloud mixed with spitting and cuss words.

We are coming up to our destination. My secret place. One of the main reasons my car runs out of gas quickly.

The airport.

The lights. The breeze. The air. The sounds.

We take it all in.

The music is still playing, but we are no longer singing.

Here, conversation doesn’t have to take place. We are both sifting through our own demons. And this place calms us.

People are leaving. People are coming back. And although physically we are not on any of those planes – I see our souls rise up into the night sky and make things right.

We will always have these memories. And even when their warmth is no longer able to sustain our friendship – we know that those two young women are still alive somewhere in this universe.

A touch. A whisper. A scream. A cry. A moment. A feeling.

Fleeting.

In this moment, I am still aware that we are going to separate soon.

That you will move away and things won’t be the same. That someone else will get to hug you and see the way your face lights up for Pepsi and hot Cheetos – even though you know they make you break out. That someone else will learn all of your faces, different laughs, and words you’ve made up.

Someone else will be your friend. They will learn to love you. They will learn your ways.

-S.

Painting.

I paint your body from memory,

I hope you haven’t forgotten me.

I love your body in my mind,

I can still feel you touching me.

I love your body in my mind,

your words are still caressing me.

I try to touch your body with my heart,

but the universe blocks the energy.

I try to touch your body with my heart,

but I am protected from things not meant for me.

–S.

You held me.

Years ago – in a letter to my dead grandmother – I wrote,

I disappear.

I disappeared.

I was disappearing.

And then he saw me.

You saw me anyway.

And in your own way – you were breathing life into me. Ultimately, in the end, I think breathing life into me, made you breath life out of yourself, and you had to let me go.

So, you let me go.

Usually when I think of the men in my past – I think of the pain that came from those unions, I think of them as having shined negative light on my life, dimming my own.

But you’re different. I remember the joy that came from our union. I think of the glow you brought into my life, a neon light at the end of the tunnel, a beacon in the night.

You held me.

I don’t mean with your physical touch.

I mean,

you

held

me.

Even when you let me go,

you

          held

                     me.

You were holding me.

You

are

holding

me.

Have you ever had someone touch you without touch?

Have you ever had someone caress you with their words?

Have you ever had someone hold you with their heart?

You were my friend before you ever became my lover.

 You held me.

You communicated openly. You let me see your heart.

You held me.

I never had to question where you were or who you were with. Trust came easy.

You held me.

You understood me, like we were speaking in a language from a life before this one. Maybe your melancholy heart just understood my melancholy heart.

You held me.

I could be naked with you.

You held me.

Your eyes catching and locking with mine across the bar through the smoke, sweat, body heat, and liquor smell.

I felt you before I saw you, too.

You held me.

Your desire for me was always reflected in your eyes. Your hunger exciting me.

You held me.

You made me breakfast every morning that we woke up together.

You held me.

You took the time to read my heart.

You held me.

Your laughter was the soundtrack of my life for months.

You held me.

You would stay up with me even when you had to be up early in the morning for work.

You held me.

You were my first kiss. The first time you kissed me – you drunkenly made me ramen noodles. taking care of me even at the beginning. I was nervous and word vomiting all over the place because I knew that you were going to kiss me with your whiskey mouth. You told me to shut up and you kissed me. Being with you, was like a ramen noodle and whiskey kiss. Not understanding why two things, two people, who shouldn’t work together – work together. Shutting up, so we could shut the whole world out together.

You held me.

That night, when the stars were big and bright in Texas (not like the song, but literally) you led me through the dark in the woods, using steps you had memorized to a clearing – showing me your place to get away from the loud of the world and into the silence. Woods surrounding us, crickets chirping, breeze blowing, you held me.

Someone can hold you without ever using their hands.

They can hold you with a look,

a laugh,

a whisper,

their heart,

their mind,

their soul.

I hope that you’re not having to breath life into anyone.

I hope no one is having to breath life into you.

It’s hard work, I know.

I hope you’re simply breathing easy and living easy – and still loving – oh so hard.

I hope you were held.

If not by me, then someone after me.

I hope you’re held now.

I hope you’re holding someone.

You are still holding me, not in a can’t get over you type of way – because I am over you, but the way you loved me, the way you held me, is STILL, to this day, tiding me over until someone else can hold me.

I hope someone, someday can hold a candle to you.

You held me.

–S.