Just give me someone that will let me hold onto them. Give me someone that doesn't want to go away.

Burning my letters to you. Did you block my number or did I misremember? Do I only miss you when all other options disappear?

Here's what it took for me to get over you:
Someone from another farm flirting with me, even after I asked about his wife. More than that though was the way I caught him looking at me. It's what I've been waiting to see. I'm ok with not holding that. I'm ok with it not being permanent. His stare is what I've wanted for so long. No one in Providence has been giving it to me. Now I have it. Now I know it's out there.
And I can have it again. I don't have to settle.
That's what I want to say to you. I don't need you to validate me. I can remember those eyes last night and that smile. The gaze and his hand on my back.
I can remember another guy, drunk, sleeping in the bed beside mine. I can remember our acute awareness of each other. "I didn't take advantage of him, but I think he wanted me to." Did you see that? I have self control.
From me to you feels further than miles.
From me to you feels like decades.

this song makes me think of you:
conditional by the Burden Brothers.

Curled up on the sofa with your tail between your legs
I won't pretend that I know you, but I wish just one time
I could get inside your head
All the treasures that you're hiding
All your secrets never safe
Are adding up to lines of frustration
I read it on your face

You know I love you even when you run away from me
But I don't want to chase you any more
So if you have to go away then I won't make you stay
Just lie awake and listen for the door

With a lack of direction
With eyes sad and red
In need of affection
You wind up on my bed
And all the treasures that you're hiding
You know they're never safe with me
Won't let you be my god
Won't let you be my slave
What else is there left to be

You know I love you even when you run away from me
But I don't want to chase you any more
So if you have to go away then I won't make you stay
Just lie awake and listen for the door

On the runway. About to fly to florida. Leaving everything else behind for future me to deal with. Sorry future me. Necessary evil.

From Moulin Rouge:
"Why does my heart cry,
Feelings I can't fight,
You're free to leave me
But please don't deceive me and
please believe me when I say
I love you"

I said "why is it so hard to get over him? Why did he have to send me that apology? It wasn't for me. I think it was for him. He wanted me to leave him alone. Why couldn't he leave me alone?"
"I didn't have to delete __'s number or leave facebook when we broke up this summer. Why is it different with this guy?"
Closure. Because I have no closure.
This is all part of the not-being-able-to-let-go thing. I'm gonna do it, though. I have to learn how. All it's ever done is hurt me.
Love is what you make of it, baby.
Do what your gut says. Fuck logic. Logic isn't joy. I just want to see you as you, not as the shell you show everyone else.
You're so beautiful and powerful and raw.
That brief glance was enough to satisfy me for this long. Why apologize? Stop playing games. Please.

I want to see evidence of you so instead I'm writing here. I want to see your face. I want to touch you. I miss your skin. I miss your stubble. I miss your eyes. I miss everything, and I bet you know it. I have said before, "I want you all the time" and it was as true as a statement like that can be. I miss having ready access to your image. The compulsion to look at pictures of you just tells me that I need to stay away from facebook even longer.
I need to break this addiction, right?
This is my methadone. A poor substitute for your mouth. None of the high but at least I get the emotion out. I think about the last time I went to your place. The day I heard from my ex. I came in and stood in the kitchen and you began kissing my neck. I got warm all over. I tingled.
You wanted me.
But like I said, I want you all the time.
No amount of silence can stop that.
No amount of words can sate my hunger for you.

crooked clavicle,
missing teeth.
staring at your pupils
'cause they're all I can see.
tried to see your iris
was always surprised;
at the color
at the pattern
on you.
you shoulda had brown eyes
you're so full of shit.
not those striking blue ones
hidden from sight.
you should have been a hermit
not an alcoholic.
making up for lost time
secluding yourself away.
a fitting last name,
didn't drive you from your passion
like you drove me away.
you forgot one thing.
you are forever responsible
for what you tame.
you can't create ties
and then walk away.
not without consequence.
I am a consequence.
I don't stop loving
just because my lover goes away.

still miss you.

Thinking about the day I helped you move and you told me you liked me. Thinking about how you asked me to stay. The sweet things you said. Then silence.

I can't lie and say that I don't miss you. I'd like to say I am glad you're not around me anymore. But I'm not. I was happy to let you walk all over me and I'm not sure why. I don't know why I let you control the way everything happened. Maybe because you wouldn't give me any control at all. I had no choice. It was your way or nothing.

That is very clear now. Every time I tried to do things my way, I got shot down. Now you're gone. You said "please leave me alone" and I have, but I would rather be in your bed, in your arms, asleep right now.

I thought about you touching my face and calling me "cutie." I thought about you telling me that I looked handsome. I am confused by your tenderness and subsequent coldness. Are you two people? Three? More?
I want to meet someone like you were when we were alone, but I'd like for that person to exist all the time and not just when only I'm watching.
I didn't do anything wrong.
I have to remind myself of that.

I didn't do anything wrong.

And I can't take anything back.

I kind of got in a yelling match with my therapist today.

It was one year ago today that my heart was utterly broken. How far have I come in 365 days?

Just smelled something that reminded me of the shaving cream my boyfriend from when I was 13 would wear.

There's just me.

Something I realized today about getting rid of my facebook account is that I don't want to see your public persona anymore. I just want to see you.
As I was walking through the library, looking at all the books I wish I could stop and read, I thought of my future. I thought, "What if I never get to read all these books? What if it happens because I never give myself time to read? What if later never comes?" I realized how appealing the thought of just sitting and reading is. I thought of you by your window with a book. I thought of how much I'd like to be there too.
I want silence, and stability, and love.
I want knowledge, and affection, and understanding.

I don't know if I'll ever get these things from you, but at least you're helping me figure out what I need and what I want and where to go to get it.

My friend's brother called me a loner, but I don't want to be. Sometimes that's just how things turn out.

I dreamed you came over and waited with me until I fell asleep. When I woke up in the morning, you were sleeping on the mattress under my loft bed. It felt like a dream inside of a dream; I couldn't believe you were there. You climbed the ladder and got into bed with me. I was so happy.

You kept leaving things at my house; excuses to see me. In my dream, my dreams came true.

Spent all night having beautiful dreams about you.

I feel like I should cry but the tears just won't come anymore. I am resigned to the state of things. I am waiting. I am alone.

A good friend of mine said this about you: "If he's anything like the way you describe him, then you'll have to be patient."

That's what everyone tells me. I must be patient. I must learn patience. This is a lifelong lesson, but I've never felt so motivated to try as I do for you.

I watch you make decisions like a slow-motion train crash. I watch you think and think and think, following each option to its conclusion. Meanwhile, I say, "do this."

I never thought of myself as decisive. But I suppose making quick decisions doesn't make one decisive. The thing about you is it seems like once you've made up your mind, it's done. That's all there is. Me, I can easily change what I've said. I can't help but see the connection between those tendencies. You're more rooted to your decision. But I made a snap statement so it's just as easy to go back on it.

I think this is a head/heart conflict. You want logic, I want love.

At the center of things, though, we are utterly reversed. You are the emotional one and I get to be cold. In those times of stress, I calm down and do what must be done. But you get to fall apart.

I love you, and I'm not sure what to do about it. It would take you years to fall in love with me.

So I write these letters in journals, draw these pictures on notes, I update these websites about you until the time you make your choice.

I don't know how to give up on people. It's a skill I've never acquired. Despite being told I view things as black and white, I always keep the shade of grey that will let the person back into my life. I never fall out of love.

My therapist said that I didn't have to give up on you.
She had also said before that you could be good for me.
I wish you saw it that way.

I want to hear from you.
Please call. Or write. Or text. I don't care; just reach out to me. Do you know how much you matter to me?

I don't think you do.

Let's call it a rhetorical question. How would you feel if I killed myself? Would it justify your silence?

"Tu deviens responsable pour toujours de ce que tu as apprivoisé."
I want to remind you of this. I want to study French again so we can have beautiful conversations. You are a secret romantic and I am recovering my romance after a year of disuse. I want to bloom and watch your response. I want to make you mine. I am already your's. You have tamed me.
I feel so melancholy. I tried to cheat today and recover your number, but I was thwarted by my own thoroughness. You've always had passion thrumming under your skin. Once you told me that your lust is a powerful thing. I don't think it's just that; I think it's that sex is the only time you let yourself out. Even then you're holding back. What if you let everything go? What if you screamed? What if you did what you want, and said what you feel, and stopped trying to repress who you are? What if you were you?
I can see it in you. That's why I have so much trouble letting go. That's why I want to tell you everything. You care about me but can't admit it. You have steel restraint. Me, I am made of memory foam. It takes me forever to bounce back. You I couldn't even hit hard enough to dent.
I want to write to you but I'm scared. Right now I've nothing to lose. There could be any reason for not hearing from you. Maybe you think I don't want any contact. Maybe you're sick of me. I don't know. There is no way for me to know. What if I write and I don't hear back from you? That would hurt more than the silence I suffer right now. It would hurt more because you'd again be actively ignoring me.
What the fuck do I do? What is closure?

You risk tears if you let yourself be tamed.

You become responsible forever for what you've tamed.

What's most important is invisible. Why couldn't I tame you? You so easily tamed me ...

Feels like I just keep fucking up over and over and over. With everyone. I wish I could talk to you. I'd trust your opinion.

Last year I went to florida for two weeks to escape the pain of my ex. I stayed with my best friend on a farm. This year I'm going alone to the same farm but for a month. I think I'm trying to escape you.

I miss the way you walk and smell.

My heart has been hurting, trying to leap through the soft spot just above it. The place you once rubbed your stubble against until it I moaned. I liked the little things you'd do for me. Things like that. Things that showed you cared.
I hurt. and it's unnecessary. All I want to do is lay in bed with you and read comics. I want to turn to you and kiss you. I want you to rub my head. I want you to care about me.

I want you to let go of whatever is holding you back, and I want you to relax into me.

This hurts more than I would have expected.

It's only through deleting your number and deactivating my facebook account that I have managed not to contact you.
Please talk to me. Please get in touch.

I miss you.

I write you letters that I don't send. Sometimes I don't bother finishing them and I just draw all over the bottom half of the paper. I think about mailing it anyway, but I don't want you to see my scribblings. I've never seen anything that you've drawn. I've only barely seen your handwriting.
Does writing this help? Is it better that I get it out somewhere, even if it isn't to you? I wanted to write a zine called "_(my name)_ loves _(your name)_" and then send it to you. But that's creepy and stalkery and WHY DID YOU TELL ME NOT TO GIVE UP ON YOU?

Why is that what I keep thinking about?
Why did I let myself have hope?

"Everyone leaves me," I said, and you rolled your eyes.
But you did it too.

I see a picture of you and it makes my heart hurt.

I want to know about your point of reference.
Your point of view.

Or how about your point, at all?

I don't want to wait for you. This is fucking bullshit.

"Am I looking at days, weeks, or months before I hear from you?" I didn't bother waiting to see if the message sent. I am so tired of getting no reply from you. I am so sick of you just jerking me around.

Why do you do it? Why are things this way? Why can't you fucking relax and then I can fucking relax and then we can fuck and relax together? Why is everything so fucking difficult?
I am crazy. This is making me crazy. You can't be around me because I am too intense. I feel too intensely. I feel things for you too intensely for you to handle.

I am angry. I am angry because I want you and for some reason I just can't keep myself away. I don't want to feel crazy over anyone. Especially not you, who would rather sequester yourself away than care.
I want to be something genuinely special to you, but you refuse to acknowledge that such things exist. I want to be different to you, but if you say I am then you also say that everyone is different to you. I am not something that shines in your mind but you do in mine.
"Crazy is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."
"Crazy is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."
"Crazy is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."
"Crazy is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."
"Crazy is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."
"Crazy is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."

Crazy is me wanting you.

Stop fucking hiding from me.

I want to tell you that I love you but I'm not sure if it's true.
I have vivid fantasies of putting my collar and cuffs on you and connecting the rings so you cannot move. I day dream about putting my ball gag in your mouth. I envision how it would look with all your missing teeth. I hope you'd drool. I hope you'd look angry as I crawl on top of you.
I hope you'd squirm.
I could put a blindfold on your and rub my breasts against your chest. I could lick down your rib cage and bite where the bones push against your skin. You would pump your legs, bite the ball gag, squirm and moan and feel crazy.

Will I get to do these things to you?

Will you let me tell you?
We spend such little time together now. I think we saw each other more before you liked me. Am I frightening? What is going on?
How deep is "like?"
Who else are you fucking?

I miss our crazy, kinky sex.

I want to tell you this, but I don't want to expect a response. So I will write it here.

I really like the back of your neck. It's beautiful.
That's all.

I don't wonder if you loved me. I know that you did. What I wonder is how you can still love me and yet be so blind to the pain you have caused, and continue to cause, me.
We were gonna go to Texas to confront your old demon. I looked up doctors to heal your scar. I found one, but you seemed reluctant. I would have paid to take the pain away. I painted a picture about it. Where your power comes from. Your new girlfriend said it was the source; I said "yeah, I told you."
You didn't listen to me. Not sure if you ever did. Pretty sure you just did what you wanted to do; didn't matter who it would hurt. Yet you took the stance of martyr. Said you weren't selfish. Baby, everyone's selfish. How could you be so out of touch?
You wrote me a letter and outlined me as nothing. You used subtle terms to assert blame. You are a master at the passive-aggressive guilt game. You are elite without instruction; you are a natural; so natural even you don't notice. I've had the past year to deconstruct you. I am still angry. I may always be angry. You still haven't apologized. Will you ever find your own sincerity?

I may have said I would contact you when I was ready. I also said I didn't want to hear from you until you had done to you what you had done to me. Until you understood the pain. Until you knew heart break.
I have never been affected by someone the way you affected me. I have never hurt like that. I hope I never do again.
My lover rubbed the ribs beneath my ache until they were bruised. I almost always think of you when my breastbone hurts. Now I press the hurt and feel better. He missed the spot I needed touched. But that physical pain emphasizes the emptiness just above it. I feel better. I feel better because someone else's memory is joined to that spot now.
I thought that when I finally heard from you, it would be with some sense of humbleness from you. But no; you are still cocky, and self-centered, and unaware of your own actions. You still find tiny ways to hurt me. How do you do it, after all this time? How can you still throw in those little words that prick me? Furthermore, why? You left me, you unrepentant asshole. You left me. And yes, it still hurts.
I told myself I wouldn't initiate contact. I didn't. I am amazed that I kept that promise to myself. Usually I fold. Maybe it was the way you ignored me for so long after you killed me. Maybe it was the pain. Maybe I just finally accepted that there is nothing I can ever say that will get through to you. There isn't. There has never been. You are a lost case. You are hopeless.
And in my anger I find you worthless, too. Not just in my life, but in the grand scheme of the world. You add nothing. You are useless.

I say that and, though there is some truth to it, I know it's just the pain speaking. I know it isn't really true.
But you hurt me.

The simple truth.

You hurt me.

And as long as I'm alive, you will continue to.

If I were to write here every time I thought of you, there would be hundreds of messages. The only words would be, "I miss you."
I mailed you a letter. Did you get it? If you did, did you read it? What does it mean to you? What does it mean now to me?
Riding my bike today, I thought of your ex-addiction. All those pain killers. Where is your pain now? What happened to it? Oh, I ache for the fullness you provided. I miss your smile.
Those accidents and shattered bones. I touched your clavicle. I loved it. I wanted to use it to pull you to me; those handles that you only spoke of once. Why did you let me in? Why do you keep me out?
I mean ... what did you think would happen?
I know what I thought. I thought you would love me.
It was foolish. It was hopeful. It was a day dream to keep me going. There is no me for you in your mind, is there. So many "if"s. No definites.

I miss you.
Do I keep myself this way?
Do I keep myself missing you?

"You need to learn to let go. Have you tried meditation?"
What if I don't want to let go, because if I let go of these feelings then I'll have no proof you ever touched me at all.

I miss you, and I think you might miss me too. I feel stupid for sending you texts yesterday. I was high and weak and I wanted to talk to someone that I knew would understand. I wish I could drop my pretensions and just let myself go with you. I wish I wasn't always so worried about losing. What does it matter now? I've already lost.

I miss you.
I read potential but closed the book. I couldn't do it. I wasn't strong enough.
I wanted to wait. But how long can I wait? Not long enough.
Now I miss the feelings I felt when I was around you. I miss your arms, and your lips, and your smell. I miss your legs, your touch, and kissing your hips.

The little noises you would make. Your uncontrolled movements.
I miss your voice. And I miss you telling me things about yourself. You didn't know how much I liked to hear you talk. I miss your brain. I miss your words.
I would've told you if I could've told you, but how would you have reacted?
I mailed you a letter yesterday. I hope you read it. I hope it's good to you.
I miss what might have been, but really, what is that anyway?

I want to hear from you.
I don't know how to do this. I have to be secure in the feeling that I will hear from you eventually. I have a lot of difficulty doing that. I think about how comfortable you feel with me and how easily you touch me now. I think of that and I feel better. Things are different from how they once were. I will hear from you.
Right?
And just like that, the anxiety rises in my chest. Why does this matter so much? Why can't I just accept my life, day to day? You implied that you think of me sometimes. I think of you so much more than that. But what if this non-communication can make that cease? What if I can learn to just fucking relax and give up my crazy need for control?
That would be wonderful. Do you know? Have you been there?
You are not so advanced from me. Just different.
I think about our bike ride. I think about how hard you push yourself then. You challenge yourself that way. How about you challenge yourself with me?

Yeah, I think of how you want to ride up hills just because it's there. Just to show yourself that you can. It reminds me of Gattaca, when Jerome, the natural-born brother, and Anton, the genetically perfect brother, swim in a race against each other. Anton can't believe that Jerome has beaten him. Not only that, Jerome saves Anton and pulls him to shore. When Anton asks Jerome how he won, despite all his flaws, Jerome says this: "You want to know how I did it? This is how I did it, Anton: I never saved anything for the swim back."
That is you. You don't save anything for the way back. Me, I plan for both ways. Is this the difference between now and later? Is this the difference between you and me?

I can't tell you these things, so I'll write them here.

I want to call you and talk to you. I want to tell you what's going on with me. But I can't call because you don't do phones. I can't call because you don't want to hear from anyone every day.

I wanna know if I'm special to you. I think I must be; why else would you hang out with me? Why would you invite me into your bed and recommend comics for me to read, and hold me when we sleep? Why would you do any of the little things you do that show you care?

I want to tell you what you mean to me. I think I scare you. I'd scare you more if I told you. You don't look at me, but I think you want to. I watched you sleep on Saturday morning. You are beautiful. Then your face started twitching; started looking hurt. I stroked your hand until you were calm again. I hid my face in case you woke up. I turned away just in time for you to miss me staring. I loved to see you wake up. I love to see you sleep. Really, I just love being around you.

You're funny. You make me laugh. I understand your need to use humor in uncomfortable situations. I do it myself. Thanks for wanting to know what bothers me when I'm upset. Thanks for understanding.
I like to watch your eyes when the light shines on you. The pupils finally constrict enough for me to see the pattern in your irises. I want to lay you down and watch your eyes. Again, I think it would be too much for you. You are silently forcing me to back off and back down and not consume you with my adoration and desire. Do you know how hard this is for me? This is why people think that you could be good for me.
But I want long-term. You said that your relationship with your ex lasted two years, though she'd say three and a half. Is that the future I can look forward to? Will what we're doing now last for a year until you finally admit that something's happening? Something's happening now whether you admit it or not. I miss you. I think about you a lot. I want to be around you. I want to talk to you. I want to listen, and I want you to listen to me. I want to look at you. I want to touch you.
And I can't tell you any of this now. You rule your life with your brain but are secretly very sensitive and emotional. I live my life with my heart but am secretly very logical. This is my pattern, with some exceptions. People change through people. How can we change each other? Hell, how could I do anything that would influence you?
You don't answer the questions that I ask, but I let it go. I overlook so many things for you. I am trying to learn what priorities are. I am trying to find the right battles to fight. And I do not want anything to build up inside of me like I've done in the past. But it's already started, layer on layer.
I think that you love me but you are not in love with me.
I think that's how I feel too.
And I think you'd want to talk to me every day, but you're scared.
I think I know more than you do. About some things, anyway. The things you don't read in books.
You know?