All I want.
Well. I just want someone to snuggle next to on the couch, or to trace lines down my arms when they’re listening to me. I just want someone who I can text when I need to talk, or someone who can hold me when I’m scared. I want someone who can look at me like I’m their everything. Someone who can see all the good things in me that I can’t. Someone who can save me from myself. Someone who, when we make eye contact, a story is told and when he sees me, he wraps his arm around my lower back and kisses me softly. I just want someone who will look at me like I’m a mystery, someone who will tolerate all my sarcasm and maybe find me funny. Someone who I can argue with, debate with, compete with. Someone who I’m not afraid to make fun of, and he’s not afraid to make fun of me. I want someone who will go on road trips with me, when I stick my sweaty palm out the window on the highway and the cool breeze wicks away the moisture. My other hand will be grasping his. I would turn to him and smile, and his eyes would smirk beneath his sunglasses. I want someone who I can bury my head into, someone who will make me feel special.
I want someone to share all my experiences with, someone who would be by my side through it all. Someone to make me laugh, someone to make me cry.
I just want someone.
The only thing I really want is to be thin. So why can’t I do what it takes?
“Tears are the silent language of grief” — Voltaire
I can’t think about it without crying.
So I don’t think about it.
I think maybe I like the idea of you more than I actually like you.
I think maybe I liked having something special with someone, and I didn’t care so much who it was as much as I cared about having it, period.
I think maybe I’ve grown so accustomed to being infatuated with you that I don’t know how not to be.
I think maybe I liked being able to lie on the floor of a boy’s dorm and having him lay beside me.
Mostly I just want someone to cuddle with so I don’t feel so alone all time.
Thanks for taking that away from me.
I really enjoy doing my laundry; there’s something calming about it. I usually do it at midnight on Friday or Saturday, so the hallways and stairwells are eerily quiet. The basement is warm and smells like the arrival of spring. It’s cozy and comforting.
But you’ve ruined laundry for me. Because the first time I did my laundry at school happened to be the second time we hooked up. And unknowingly the last time we would ever be the only 2 people in a room together.
I hate that you stopped talking to me.
I hate that you make me feel inferior.
I hate that I let you into my heart.
I hate that I could be myself around you.
I hate that I felt comfortable with you; like I was at home.
I hate that you were my first for so many things.
I hate that all I want to do is talk to you.
I hate that you make it seem so easy to let go.
And I hate that I can’t hate you.
Or forget about you.
And I hate that you are special to me.
I hate that I will never forget my first kiss on September 10, 2011 at 12:34 AM.
And I hate that it was with you because if you hadn’t disappeared it would have been special.
It felt magical.
And I hate that I will never have that again.
I hate that you left me no explanation.
And that you expected me to accept it.
And that I did.
I can’t do my laundry without crying.
[video]
Remember when we were lying on the floor of your dorm room and you touched my elbow? Because I’ll never forget it.
I want to look like this.