I wish I wasn’t obsessed with his mustache. There’s a small vertical line between the hairs above his top lip. The line rests directly above the “V” of those lips. He laughs in monosyllables. “Tst tst tst”, even when I wasn’t funny on purpose. I’m either amusing, or he gets amused by me a lot.
This movie line said “we have less to offer, each time we start with someone new.”
The first guy I loved. I saw his apparition for months after things had ended. In my room, in my mother’s kitchen, walking on the street. Everything smelt like him, every conversation directed towards me carried an unwitting rhyme with his name. “Excuse me, did you say his name?” “No we didn’t,” I stopped when they eyerolled me.
I’m sick of managing internal tears. I thought the last one meant I was on a straight track to reason. One phone call from you, and its Sufjan Stevens on repeat bolstered by the tears I never shed in front of you.
Do you ever get sick of not forgetting someone completely?
I’ve tried to write you out of me. Three times. I finally made a complete draft the fourth time, but your character didn’t die. So I started another draft where I kill you off before the story even gets halfway.
If I have to describe the line between your moustache. or the sound of your laugh, or the way you smell, how I know when you’ve changed perfumes or lotion, one more time.
I couldn’t do a thing. You had me the first time your lips landed on mine.
This friend says, “Live. You’re still in your early twenties.” This other guy says “You will be surprised how quickly things will fade when you finally move on.”
But you’re on my two wrists, my two temples and you’ve bored a small efficient hole in my chest, and between my collarbones. And you don’t even know, because all I’ve done in front of you is smile, and pretend to be more sensible than I am.
I’m not sure why people still peddle hope. I’ve boiled mine in pepper and tried to asphyxiate it. The bloody thing won’t die. I just want my self back. You can keep my heart till its tired. Just give me back the girl I was before we met.
