Tag: heartache

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.

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.

What if it was supposed to be me?

Harvey Milk said:

“Go after her. Fuck, don’t sit there and wait for her to call, go after her because that’s what you should do if you love someone, don’t wait for them to give you a sign cause it might never come, don’t let people happen to you, don’t let me happen to you, or her, she’s not a fucking television show or tornado. There are people I might have loved had they gotten on the airplane or run down the street after me or called me up drunk at four in the morning because they need to tell me right now and because they cannot regret this and I always thought I’d be the only one doing crazy things for people who would never give enough of a fuck to do it back or to act like idiots or be entirely vulnerable and honest and making someone fall in love with you is easy and flying 3000 miles on four days notice because you can’t just sit there and do nothing and breathe into telephones is not everyone’s idea of love but it is the way I can recognize it because that is what I do. Go scream it and be with her in meaningful ways because that is beautiful and that is generous and that is what loving someone is, that is raw and that is unguarded, and that is all that is worth anything, really.”

Sometimes I wonder what if I tried one more time?

What if I told you that I was sorry?

What if I told you that I missed you every second of every day (and even the intervals between seconds), that I loved you so much that sometimes I just didn’t even notice it, not like an afterthought, but because it was that much a part of me, it was just a part of my existence, like breathing. ?

You were necessary like breathing to me.

What if I showed up one more time? What if I looked into your eyes one more time?

I am forgetting what your voice sounds like.

I am forgetting what your laugh sounds like.

I looked up one of your social media accounts.

I saw you with your new girlfriend.

You love her so much, you wrote.

You love her family as well.

She’s supportive and kind and crazy about you.

And that’s all good and well. It really is.

But I can’t shake the fact that I should’ve been the one holding your hand forever.

What if it was supposed to be me?

–S.

Ghost Stories.

I am walking with your ghost again,

through fields filled with weeds, abandoned store parking lots, and cemeteries you now call home.

I am walking with your ghost again,

through empty playgrounds, the haunted city asylum, and the forest where you told me your first secret.

I am walking with your ghost again, through buildings where our laughter no longer echoes, on rusty train tracks, to the last place we were whole.

I am walking with your ghost again,

but you are fading as the sun is climbing the sky.

I am walking along again,

bracing myself for your millionth goodbye.

–S.

Black Boots.

2014.

I’m driving home.

It’s 2:32 in the morning.

It’s chilly in Texas now.

More late at night than during any other time of the day.

I wonder what the weather is like where you are. I turn the radio on, and I hear Justin Timberlake taking back the night.

I wonder what you’re listening to nowadays. Are you playing your piano?

I turn the radio off. I don’t want to take back this night. It’s beautiful. I want to burn it into my memory forever. It’s truly been special and I haven’t done anything special in quite some time. When I am wearing my faux leather black boots, I feel like I can do anything. I wore them tonight. If we still spoke, you’d know about them. I would have sent you a picture. I was dressed in all black with touches of gold jewelry. I felt sexy and mysterious all wrapped into one with a ribbon on it.

I laughed a lot tonight. Real laughter. I meant all of it.

And there was this moment when I was driving home, and the air was blowing aggressively against my face, that I missed you.

I really really missed you.

I wondered if you were at work maybe thinking of me too.

I wanted you to wrap your words around me and bring me warmth the rest of the car ride home.

I wanted you to lay me down on my pillow and sing me to sleep.

Your deep low timbre.

I would do anything to hear your smile – even over the telephone.

I don’t even need to see it, it would be enough.

Just to know that it was my smile. For me. Because of me.

If it’s cold where you are, I wish you warmth.

I wish you the sun.

–S.

I remember those faux leather black boots. I wore them into another love story. They were my favorite boots to dance in downtown. Eventually – one of them started coming apart and I would use black tape to keep it together. I was wearing them in dimly lit bars and clubs, but also didn’t give a fuck if anyone noticed the tape.

I loved those black boots. I LIVED in those black boots.

RIP Faux Leather Black Boots.