29 January 2015

181.

The curve of your smile is the only function I want to graph,
all along the xy-plane of my memory;
if I could, I'd calculate formulas that would equate to your laughter.
If you'd let me, I'd spend forever plugging in numbers.
No chart could accurately display
the leaps my heart makes in reaction to you.
Do you know how lucky I would be
if I were only a derivative to your f(x)?
How sweetly I would cherish that point of tangency.
Oh, I long to know whether we are parallel lines,
never bound to truly meet;
perhaps I am 1/x and you are the x-axis
and maybe I will spend my life
approaching you, never getting quite close enough-
and you?
You could go on ad infinitum
and get along fine without me-
while I
would spend that eternity yearning to cross your path.
If I could claim credit for even one of your smiles,
consider the solution to the equation of my life found,
because not even a perfect sin wave could compare
to the upward concavity of your lips.

24 January 2015

will you remember that it used to be me?

So who's it going to be next?

That's not important.

Are you going to kiss her softly, silently, slowly, as though you're scared she might shatter? Will you pull her closer and press your lips against hers harder when she kisses back? When she holds your hand, will you swing your arms between the two of you and smile at her when she laughs? Are you going to send her sweet messages when she's gone, are you going to whisper silly things to her when she's by your side? When you catch her eye across a room, will you make a goofy face and wink at her?

When you drop her off, will you tell her to stay put and run around to open the car door for her, will you scoop her up in your arms as she presses kisses to your neck, will you hold her until she lets go?

What about when she texts you? Are you going to read them and not reply? Or will you respond immediately, never let her doubt your devotion? Will you bring her home to your mom and your dad and your cats and your bedroom and your music and your favorite teddy bear that you've had since you were little? Will she lay in your bed, arms 'round your neck like a scarf, legs 'round your hips like a belt? Are you going to cuddle her and fall asleep watching your shows and when she wakes because your mom called the both of you downstairs, are you going to say I just want to hold you and pull her down onto your chest and kiss the top of her head?

Are you going to tell her you love her?

Will you mean it when you do?


22 January 2015

twelve step program

|| one || he pressed his lips to my knuckles and whispered i love you one last time; a sob escaped the prison of my ribs and i backed away until all that i could feel of him was his fingertips slipping away. i stumbled up the drive way and turned around to watch him drive away. he didn't look back. ||

|| two || i paced down the hallway, listening intently to my father's voice on the other end of the line, but i came up short when i looked through the window and saw him. i pulled back immediately, hiding around the corner, heart racing, and tried to regain my focus. i had half convinced myself that it wasn't him when i yanked the door open and the familiarity of his stance took my breath away. there was no doubt that it was him, but i willed myself not to pause, to simply stride past him without a glance. i assured my father that i was still listening, but all i could hear was my heart cracking. ||

|| three || before my parents had even checked into their hotel room, i was winding my way through slot machines and chain smokers searching for the exit. not out of excitement, not out of need to see the city- simply because my future roommate was waiting for me in a starbucks on 5th and i pride myself on punctuality. i flew down the street, legs pumping, chest heaving, hair streaming behind me, ignoring the late afternoon sun and the mid-august heat. things i would have appreciated- loved- at home didn't matter to me there. i told myself that he would be no different. ||

|| four || my hands trembled as i unlocked the door; it swung open easily and i clenched my jaw, stepping into the apartment- my apartment- with the kind of hesitation that would have made my freshly-graduated freedom-craving peers roll their eyes with scorn. that, and perhaps that my first impression of it was as a barren wasteland, told me that my new living situation might take some.. adjusting. at the end of the day, when the furniture we'd brought was set up and i was alone, i sat down in the still-empty living room and cried because i could see him everywhere and it wasn't fair that he could haunt me in a place he'd never even seen, and that he no longer had any reason to see. ||

|| five || the action of walking to band and the feeling of being lost was a combination i had never felt before, but college is certainly about new experiences. the moment i stepped into the university's band room, i felt out of place. i looked at the people milling about and searched desperately for the person who had made me feel at home even in the most nerve-wracking situations, though i knew he could only be found five hundred miles away. ||

|| six || after a month, i still hadn't settled into a routine. there were days i showered and did my makeup and ate breakfast and went to class; there were days where i got up and left the apartment, stopping only to make sure i hadn't forgotten my homework. most weekends found me in pajama pants and t-shirts on the futon my roommate had supplied for our living room. i had long stopped searching for his number in my messages, stopped checking his blog for signs that he missed me; so that day, when the +1 popped up on my inbox, i didn't expect much. my heart stopped at the sight of his username. i scanned his message. i read it backwards, then forwards again. i refreshed twice, three times. my hands shook as i shut my laptop. i lowered my legs to the floor, needing to feel grounded. i took a deep breath, stood up, showered. i had no plans for the day, but i got ready anyway. and then i typed out my message. i hit send and paced. hours later, his number lit up my phone. ||

|| seven || my stomach twisted painfully as soon as i read the words i still love you and i knew that i could never love north carolina again, not like henderson, not after henderson. i typed i love you too and hated myself for it. but the next day, the next two weeks, when he called me cutie pie and cupcake i felt an appreciation for sunshine that had been absent as long as he'd been. ||

|| eight || i always tried to give him what he wanted. this was no different. i left him alone. ||

|| nine || i'd been home for two weeks when he said he wanted to see me. as his street came into view, my heart clenched. as i put my car in park, my vision blurred. i blinked away tears and willed my fingers to stop twitching. taking my time gathering my purse and my phone and my keys, i breathed deeply, opened the door, and began the walk up to his front door. ||

|| ten || i couldn't remember the last time i'd been on a real date, a date where i felt like i should dress nice and was picked up and taken out. i couldn't tell if i was nervous because of that, or because it was him. and yet as soon as i spotted him making his way up my driveway, instinct took over and i slipped my hand into his. i think i might've slipped him my heart, too. he opened the car door for me and i reveled in the intimacy of recovering my spot in the passenger's seat. ||

|| eleven || only 60 hours later it was "over for good." i wondered if anything in the world could really be considered good. ||

|| twelve || when i figure this one out, i'll let you know. ||

Moving on is a twelve-step program, but sometimes you have to retrace your steps.