"Hating yourself is a waste of time."
"You’re the queen of hating yourself."
He kissed every part of me last night. I thought he just wanted me.
He kissed me goodbye this morning. I think he might like me.
i rang up 3 bags of lentils at work today
nothing else, just lentils
for one of my few customers
and i thought of what my mom used to cook
that had lentils in it
i honestly dont remember what it was called or what was even in it
i remember it being warm
and having good ingredients
that made my whole entire house smell spicy
my mom would cook
i’d do my homework in my room
my brother would play in his room
we’d wait for my dad to come home from work
when we heard the door open
we’d bound down the stairs
and hug my dad who always smelt like winter air and wood
hold onto him as we made our way to the table
groan about what adult food my mom made for dinner
and talk about our days
not caring what was on our plate
not caring that we were together
taking it for granted
(just like the food on our plates)
because back then it was normal
would i give anything to go back to normal.
before the tears,
before the heartache,
before the questioning of self-worth.
before the extra sixty pounds,
before the cuts,
before the yelling and the screaming and the threats and the everything.
i miss being ten. i miss the sweat in the crack behind my knee from curling up reading on my porch on warm summer days. the aqua blue pool, the puke green rug, the lilac walls of my downstairs bathroom. all the colors of my life.
im tired tonight.
it doesn’t feel like a tired night though.
it feels like a
i wish you were here
i wish i was driving under the stars with you
i wish we were holding hands
i wish i could watch the way the crisp november wind blows your hair
i wish i knew what you tasted like”
my bed is big enough to fit two
my arms are enough to fit one
and my heart is enough to fit many
but no one belongs here
more than you.
my mouth tastes like drugs and I had the best weekend. I love Vermont and I am so happy.
I think I might’ve inhaled you, I can feel you behind my eyes.
I need to take care of me but I take care of everyone else instead.
I need to take care of me. I got that tattooed on my brain. Believe me.
But maybe, FUCKING maybe, I want to be taken care of.
Just for once.
I’m so fucking sick and tired of giving.
THAT’S ALL I EVER DO.
I’m always telling the people I care about to put themselves first, that they’re the most important person, they’re the only one that should matter to them.
I need to listen to myself. I allow myself to get bruised. I literally GIVE others permission to hurt me.
Grow up, Emma. Get some fucking self respect.
I miss you and I miss sleeping on your porch with you and I miss kissing you at 2:46 am and I miss just everything about you. Those two days were perfect, just like you. I’m sorry that distance fucks everything up and I’m sorry we drifted. Fuck. I miss you. So much.
I don’t know how not to care.
I don’t know how to pretend that kissing her while I was drunk meant nothing to me like it probably does to her.
I was excited to talk to her. My best friend kind of set us up in a way, so why wouldn’t I be? She knows best, I guess.
My best friend doesn’t know I hate brown eyes, though. I don’t like them. They’re boring. They have no life in them and I won’t date anyone with them.
Or so I thought, until I saw hers. Until I saw the way they met mine as we walked towards each other for the first time. And the way they looked under the pink lights in her cramped dorm room. Intoxicated yet in control. In the dark while I confessed that I have commitment issues in the worst way possible (they were full of concern, I think). And my least favorite time, in the morning. Sober and cold. Kind of like I was a mistake.
I haven’t known her too long. I know a few basics. She’s an anthropology major with a minor in geology and music. She fucking loves rocks. What is it with people I date and them liking rocks? This is the third person. Anyways.
She likes Zelda. And Pokemon. And drugs.
And I think she’s the most interesting person I’ve ever met.
Do you ever just want to get to know people? I like kissing her. Holy shit, she’s hot as hell. And I want her. But I can kiss anyone I want. Anyone can kiss anyone they want. She’s more than just one stupid drunk night to me, more than one person I’ve fucked around with. And I feel like I messed it up. Big time.
So if she ever reads this (edit: you are. that’s why I’m typing it out for you. what.), I’m sorry about that. I just wanna get to know you better. I wanna take you out to coffee (edit: did that.) and talk to you about your day and why you like rocks so fucking much like literally every single person I’ve ever dated. I want to know why you started playing the drums and why your favorite color is brown and why the hell do you think it’s okay to like Twilight better than Harry Potter and hear about what you think of spirit animals. And of course I want to get drunk with you again and probably have sex with you. I wish I knew a better way to put that, some way that’s more romantic or poetic, or maybe even both. But I don’t.
I’m just curious about this magical person I’m attracted to.