I write about you as if you'll see it

Or as if you'd even care

We were comfortable

Hot chocolate and lipstick stains

My heart was full

In a desolate place

I opened myself to you

But you just dragged me under

Your eyes were on her

When your lips were on mine

I'm ice and you're fire

But you never intended to keep me warm

You write about your friends and killing yourself

But I write about you

About the deep purple creases under sweet, tired eyes

And gentle fingers running through my hair

Maybe we both write about our madness

Depression verses obsession

You claim you can't write happy songs

But maybe it's just me

We pile into the back of a worn out Chevy through the right side (the left door is broken). The lovers in the front seat are screaming along to a song that the rest of us don't know. I'm plastered against two almost strangers, the back road wind buffeting my cold face. I'm laughing at nothing, my stomach empty of dread.

We're walking into a park, an old friend and I. The air is hot but not oppressive. She's telling me about a movie she saw the night before, her giggling contagious. The playground is crowded, but we find two isolated swings. I kick off my shoes and soar through the air. I feel light. Limitless.

We're working on a project in German, neither of us having a clue what to do. We muscle through the problems, guessing all the way. Whispered puns and jokes bother our neighbors, but we don't care. He hits me playfully with his hoodie string. He tells me to fix my necklace, the clasp is showing. I glance at him, 5 years of history between us. But we're close. Closer than ever. I'm smiling for the first time in a long time.

Happiness is most real in the smallest of moments.

Dear Erica,

I'm laying in bed under that tie-dye blanket you ex-friend gave you many years ago, practicing answering questions for your interview with your top choice college. I hope you worry less now. I hope you know it isn't worth the stress.

There's an unopened text from the first boy who broke your heart in my inbox. I hope you have recovered from what he did to you. I hope you are still friends because he's the only one who ever got you.

I just got those test scores back, and I am disappointed in myself. I hope you take yourself as you are. I hope you think you're good enough.

The boy you met at that concert has barely said a word to me in weeks, and it's tearing me apart. I hope you are putting yourself first. I hope you have found a love that betters you.

There are fresh scars on my thighs, and I think about adding to them a lot lately. I hope you've overcome your demons. I hope you've found a way to live with yourself.

I hope everyone was right about things getting better.

Much love,

Erica

My memories are growing darker

They have a black haze around fuzzy edges

I watch them like 50's sitcoms

Unfamiliar and staged

I almost expect to hear a taped audience laughing in the background

It's probably drunken nights drowning them out

Like a novel dropped in a puddle

But I like to think that it's me moving on

My memories just don't grow with me

Everyday is a blur

Hazy and gray

Smog encapsulates my mind

There's no difference between

Night and day

You brought me to life

Everyday was an adventure

But like a magnet to a television

You took my color away

Words are not enough

To describe the way I feel

And they are not enough to say

How much I wish I hated you

As much as I hate myself

Most people drown their sorrows in a bar at the mercy of a bartender. But here I am in the corner of a Starbucks, silently watching young girls laugh and aspiring writers type away in their own worlds. This is my fourth black coffee, the bitter taste barely registering on my burnt tongue. I'm not sad. I'm not angry. I don't feel much at all. The colors in this shop are turning gray in my eyes. I imagine him here with me, drinking an iced coffee and whispering silly stories about the people in the shop. But I only see him in my dreams, and now I don't even have that. Because it isn't sleeping that I fear; it's waking up with nothing to look forward to.

I'm afraid of the nothingness I've become.

I dreamt about you last night

It was nothing special

But it felt like so much more

I woke up guilty

Sad and cold

I hate the thought of you

I want to forget your voice

But I've always thought

That dreams were a sign

That your heart shows you

In your resting hours

I don't love you

And I don't think I ever could

But there's something about this

That I just can't ignore

I watch her carefully

A painted smile

Dimpled cheeks

Laughing on command

She lays limp at night

Inky tears in her eyes

While her puppeteer sleeps

His snoring blocking her dreams

In the morning he lifts her

Her body coming to life

He repaints her melted face

And she smiles like all the rest

But I can see it in her eyes

That she can't breathe

She controls nothing

She never gets a say

She moves along a course

In her marionette way

I reach out to touch her

But I can't move an inch

Because the mirror is far away

And my puppeteer is once again asleep

You held my hand

I felt fire in my heart

Sweat pooling in my palm

But I couldn't let go

It was dark and quiet

All I could see were the stars

My lips quivered under yours

Happiness bursting inside

How could this ever end?

I haven't slept in three days

Remembering how your lips tasted

I'm colder than ever

My heart is freezing over

It's been months

But I'm still so cold

Without your touch

I'm lost and shivering

Since you left me alone

I was never the same