He hasn’t hit me,
Or made me do drugs,
Or left the scent of booze on my shoulders from sloppy drunk kisses.
He hasn’t held me down and made me afraid of his hands. He hasn’t made a show of me, the girl he won in a romantic game that only he knew he was playing.
He hasn’t made me believe I was damaged from day one.
He hasn’t forced his way into my door, he hasn’t pounded on it when it’s locked and told me I’ll die alone because I won’t let anyone in.
He hasn’t done any of the things you have, but I still can’t love him because you broke me.
He hasn’t been like you, but I treat him like he has.
I hope you feel punished too.
She was a genius of sadness, immersing herself in it, separating its numerous strands, appreciating its subtle nuances. She was a prism through which sadness could be divided into its infinite spectrum.
I saw you today. And I thought about kissing you today. And yesterday. And the day before that. I know I’ll probably think about kissing you tomorrow, and the day after that, and some more days after those. I think about kissing you, slowly. And tracing my fingers along your lips. I think about kissing you, in the rain, at the movies, on your doorstep. I think about kissing your cheek, your spot. But the difference is, I think about kissing, only you. Not anyone else, just you.
The best kiss is the one that has been exchanged a thousand times between the eyes before it reaches the lips.
I remember when I thought people in their 20’s were adults. Now all of my friends are in their 20’s and everybody is just kind of fumbling around bumping into each other, trying to figure out where the free food is……
so that’s pretty much what I’m expecting to experience for the next like 10 years.