Do you have memories that are oft forgotten, but a certain smell, or sound can trigger the memory to play so vividly you feel every single thing you felt that night.
Winter, brings the pain and the heartbreak for me. The snow crunching beneath my feet. I was eighteen, I was wild and beautiful and I was walking home at four in the morning with a man almost twice my age and two hundred dollars worth of cocaine in my pocket.
I was so happy. The air hurt my face, and Carl and I spilt his last cigarette. The night was blurred but I remember being in his bed. I remember him telling me he cared. I remember the lyrics he wrote about me. And that he couldn’t sleep with me.
He said he wanted to and that I was beautiful. But I think he just wanted to take care of me.
But how long can you live
On Suicide hotlines
And wine coolers
I hurt so deeply
And you were afraid of drowning
I can’t blame you for this
I’ve been floating in it since I was 12
The hurt feels like home now
You can’t run every time the water hits the shore
All I needed was a lifeguard
And you disappeared
He unlearned how to touch me
any way than with a closed fist.
I’m sorry I tried to kill myself in your bed.
But I felt so alive there it frightened me.
I didn’t love him.
But he loved the parts of me I couldn’t stand.
So we played house
Until I burt it to the ground.
Lipstick stained cigarettes and old bookshops will remind you of me even if you can’t remember what you’re remembering.
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.