black flies

i’m sitting in bed, hoping that i can fall asleep quickly because i need to wake up early for class tomorrow. not that it differs from every other morning, but i feel urgent right now. i need the sleep.

and it comes to me.

in a rush of thoughts and slow, fat tears streaming down my face. the urge to write comes to me in this same way often, actually… embarrassingly… in a very real way.

i can’t stop thinking about this person that i am in love with. i’ve cultivated them in my imagination. not exactly in physical looks, i have no idea what they look like, nor do i care. but i’ve created this person in feelings and smiles. i can feel their arms around me, and i can hear them speak. i think of this person, and i feel full.

because… i don’t know. i’m a little crazy? i’m slightly obsessed with the idea of finding a person that makes me whole despite my unwavering efforts to fulfill myself by myself? i’m a champion at run-on sentences?

i’m not creating an unrealistic person that will never disappoint me. i want the disappointment. i want the fights and the passion. i crave the frustration. because, to me, these things surrounded by love and laughter mean that it’s worth it. that the love is worth it. that i am worth it.

~*~

“tell me i’m worth it,” i said, laying in bed. a hot tear rolled down my face. my jaw was tight, i could feel every inch of my throat drying while i waited for you to respond to me.

“you’re worth it.”

i knew i pressured you to tell me that you loved me, but i didn’t care. i needed your lies to make me feel whole again. without them, i wasn’t just missing pieces. i felt completely empty. i craved your attention with relentless energy. the rest of me felt constantly tired, but the promise of you gave me so much hope.

i wanted someone that looked at me like i was magic.

you aren’t them. as badly as i wanted you to be, you just aren’t.

~*~

“why don’t you date a woman?” my mom is sitting across from me. i look at my sister.

“i’ve thought about it,” i say. “but i really just don’t think i’m interested in women. i don’t think i’d enjoy the sex.”

“that’s understandable,” my sister says. i think she’s holding in a shutter. i’m guessing a gay person might see this as the true sign of a straight person. then i think that if i were gay or bi or curious in any way, i would probably be able to identify the true signs of a straight person.

then i wonder why i’m so boring.

~*~

i keep seeing these quotes on pinterest. i call them “sad girl quotes.” they’re things that i think women save and look at to remind themselves that they are special.

i fucking love them.

i see one, and i think, “this is about me,” or “this perfectly sums up my relationship with xxx.”

it amazes me how words work. carefully placed next to or near one another. they say so much, sometime with very little and other times with a lot.  

reading beautiful things makes me happy that i am a person that feels too much to hold inside because who would i be if i wasn’t me? it makes me happy that i can’t fall asleep until i’ve carefully arranged all of my thoughts into words for my brain to understand because who would i be if i wasn’t me? it makes me happy that they often come to me, hand-in-hand, with tears… because who would i be if i wasn’t me?

who would i be?