How can I be so empty
Yet feel so much?
How can I be so empty
Yet feel so much?
I will fuck you until I feel whole again.
The day went by. Different than before, I went outside today. I walked to a coffeeshop and brought along the book and I watched life happen around me. It was beautiful. Things were different today, I looked up in the mirror about the coffeehouse sofa, my face done up, my hair brushed, and a dress covering the frightful sight of an unloved body. I called my mother today, she said she’s come by to see me multiple times, I don’t recall, but I don’t tell her than. I come home while my boyfriend is at a meeting. I think of all the good things that have filled my day. I think of all the hurt that filled the past months.
I don’t remember smashing the mirror. But I do remember the feeling of the glass against the soft flesh of my wrist.
We finished our coffee and we kissed and his hands found their way to my waist, then my stomach, then my breasts. I inhaled sharply.
“Is this okay?” He asked gently. I nodded in response.
“I don’t want to push you.” I smiled and kissed him again. He lifted me up and I wrapped my legs around his waist, as he carried me up the stairs. He laid me on the bed and straightened himself to take his shirt off, then hovered back over my body. He peeled his large shirt over my head and kissed my neck, and down my body. He was so gentle and patient. He kissed between my thighs and my legs opened for his like a book. I gasped and I ran my fingers through his hair. When his face returned to mine I felt down his body, he was so warm in contrast to my hands. I fumbled with his belt for so long I felt like crying. I’m not sure why, I get that that feeling a lot though. He kissed my forehead and laughed.
“It’s okay.” And he helped undress himself. When I felt him inside me again it all felt new, but it was still beautiful, we breathed deeply together, I pushed against him to try and place myself on top. He turned and held my hips so we never even had to separate our bodies, but I got up so I could face away from him. I was slower than he normally liked but I was still getting my rhythm back and I knew he understood, when I opened my eyes I found myself facing the mirror once again. I was the same girl I was that morning but I looked more alive, and it looked like I was dancing.
I miss the dancing.
I decided to get out of bed today. I placed my feet firmly on the ground and I stood up a little too quickly and my body hated me for a moment. My stomach feeling like throwing away everything inside my body like I wasn’t empty enough to begin with. I breathed deeply and slowly until it settled and I walked down the stairs towards the dinning room. Between our bedroom and there, we had five mirrors. Each one I passed I stared not at, but through. I felt like a ghost, I found comfort in that feeling. I was startled by a hand on my shoulder and I turned to see my lover and I felt full, for just a moment.
“Out of bed, and before noon at that. We call that progress, darling.” I smiled at the thought of not being a disappointment. I walked to the counter.
“Wheres the coffee machine?” I asked softly, afraid my voice may rattle my bones and force me to crumble once again.
“You smashed the pot last week, don’t you remember?” I didn’t but I didn’t say anything. He pulled out a French press and began boiling some water, and then sat my body atop the counter and pressed his face into my chest while wrapping his arms around me.
“I’ve missed you.”
I want to tell you about how it feels to live alone when you’re suicidal.
But it’s not really “living” alone.
It’s merely “trying not to die” alone.
Hang me from the rafters like a Christmas ornament
I want my walls so tall you never bother climbing them.
She sat there, her head nearly pressing against the glass, admiring the rain gently kissing the pavement.
He sat in his office, eyes glazed with the reflection of the computer screen, mumbling about how the weather ruined his plans for the day.
I was so afraid of not being enough, I became nothing at all.