I wrote a thing & it’s the first narrative I’ve written in a long time & it’s still making me nervous because I like it BUT I would truly love to hear some thoughts - AND I very much welcome any remixes/edits/etc.

<3C

“I loved you, I still love you. Part of me will always love you so very much. You were/are/always will be my first love. You let me into your life when you were blocking others out. You told me your secrets and plans and stories and dreams and all I could think of to tell you was how much I loved you, because that’s what I was always feeling. I was always loving you, always wanting to tell you just how great that felt. I had never loved someone so much, no one had ever loved me back.
Even when we were moving on, growing up, getting away from the small and into the big, even when we were giving parts of ourselves to other people, there was always still part of me that belonged to part of you. And then I kissed you, and then you held my hand.”

Me, 18 years old. Love letter to a ghost.

Sometimes I cannot believe the things my heart is capable of feeling.

What’s Next? ~ A Resolution in Happiness

When we first met, I wondered if I could miss you. You stood next to me, trying to make me laugh, telling me stories, maneuvering your way around the defenses that I was so eagerly putting up, and I wondered what it would feel like to miss you.

We drank wine out of plastic cups. We walked in circles around records and around people. You were trying harder than I thought you would. You were gentler than I could have imagined.

So many words danced on the tip of my tongue. So many truths, so many stories, so many flaws, so many habits. I wanted to kiss you the first time you said “goodbye”. I was scared, I was nervous. 

And then a month, and a date, and a thousand kisses, and I missed you. I felt fragile and alone in the city for the first time. I felt small and insignificant beneath the weight of the buildings and all of the people who didn’t care about me. When my family was gone and I locked myself in my temporary bedroom just to feel some familiarity, I found comfort in hearing your voice. My hands missed your body, my heart missed your promise.

I dreamed up horrible, wonderful, chaotic futures for us. But never this. Never this shock, never something so sudden. Not from you. I’ve been tracing the patterns of your words and your actions, searching for any subtle hint, any single, tiny sign that I should have considered with greater weight. All I’ve found is your sweetness. Your generosity. The kindness in your quiet voice.

I keep waiting for that too-familiar pang of sadness to settle into my limbs. The ache that makes me want to stretch out my arms to reach you. That awful realization. The ghost of heartbreak resurfacing between every blink, breath, and heartbeat.

I keep waiting to sink back into the loneliness and the desperation that once broke my bones and drowned my eyes. To be unable to find the line between being completely empty and being filled with pain. I keep expecting to feel weak. To want to crawl into the darkness of anywhere just to sleep and to dream and to forget.

But instead I sit cross-legged, breath steady, eyes wide and dark and anxious and wondering — what’s next? My lips are overwhelmed by a relentless smile. My thoughts are soaring upward and onwards, through the clouds and toward the stars, never stopping, never yielding, never apologizing. 

I’ll hold tightly onto the knowledge that I tried my hardest to be patient and kind and brave. I’ll pocket the memory of the blaze of possibility that blossomed the first time you kissed me and an afternoon of believing that you were the most perfect thing I could ever know. Because for a moment, you were perfect. The moment has melted away into nothingness, but it still existed. For a moment, amidst the nerves that made my hands shake and the fear that glistened in my eyes, I fell in love and you were perfect. 

I can cradle all of my sadness in my hands. I can catch the regret and stomp it out before it is ignited into loneliness. You didn’t dig your fingers deep enough into my skin to break my heart. You didn’t sing your promises quietly enough.

The first time I missed you was the last time I missed you. I’ll keep trying to surround myself with real love; you can keep yourself buried in your irrationalities and your anger and your bitter resentment. I’ll happily keep the light of my heart far away from the darkness of yours.

<3C

keeping secrets {part four} - How to Get Over a Broken Heart in a Year

Kyle & I began a collaboration last month chronicling two characters on a journey to healing their poor, broken hearts. We’ve decided to contribute a new RECord every month until we’ve reached a year ~ December 2012.

We hope you give it a look and that you like it and contribute some REmixes - we’d love to see them!

Here’s my addition.

"So I ran with it, and I fell in love."

—-

<3C

'Do you love me?' She whispered into the crook of his neck, as they laid underneath purple sheets, making their nighttime darkness even darker. They reveled in their solitude.

'I do,' he said. 'I do love you.' He felt her lips shift into a smile.
‘I love you, too.’ She said carefully, walking her fingers along his collarbone.
He looked at her and smiled in return. ‘You are my favorite monster.’
He was her favorite kind of poetry. The chestnut brown, constant mess which was his hair — left in turmoil from running his hands through it whenever concentrating. His unnaturally dark eyes, and the languid movement of his mouth when he spoke.

'Do you remember what I told you when we first met?' He asked this quietly, as though sharing a secret, though they were quite alone.
‘I do,’ she answered, grinning once more into his skin. ‘Say it again.’
‘Of all the adventures in all the world; of all the demons to conquer and the monsters to make and the stories to tell — There is nothing quite so magical,’ he paused, traced the angle of her jaw, and kissed her. ‘As the adventure of you.’

A (tiny, lovely) Moment [on hitRECord]

- I adore the surprise! when someone RECommends a RECord that you’d completely forgot exist.

breathing patterns/on the red line

I miss you sometimes. In the cool autumn morning and at night while it rains. I remember feeling that I loved you, and I remember knowing it in the rain in October.

It’s harder now than it was before. Harder to understand what happened, and harder to believe in what you taught me. Because I still want to believe in it… I don’t know why, but I feel like I must. It’s become part of my breathing patterns, my quirks, my routines. It was so much of you and became so much of me. 

I take the train more than I used to. I drink water more often now. I walk slower in the suburbs and slower in the city. I laugh louder, I think, and I re-read your favorite book at least once a month. Not because it’s your favorite, but because it’s my favorite now, too, and I don’t want to let that go just because you decided to leave. 

I hope you empty your pockets before you do laundry. I hope you speak in French without meaning to and in front of people who don’t know the language. I hope you can find Cassiopeia in the night sky, and I hope you still have to listen to Schubert before falling asleep.


I hope that some day you’ll remember that you left me here in love with you.
I hope you miss me on hot nights and when there’s so much fog in the morning, the entire city feels like a graveyard.

It’s harder now than it was. But only sometimes.

—-

on hitRECord

<3C

falling

It’s wild. Fucking. Wild.

Whether it works out or whether it doesn’t. Whether you end the night with a hand to hold or whether you’ve spent your entire life in a twin-sized bed.

There’s nothing like it. Hand to God. Nothing on the face of this planet is as simultaneously destructive and satisfying as loving someone.

You look at someone, they look at you. And there’s a moment. A solitary moment that is gone in an instant but lingers like a phantom for eternity.

It’s really scary too. You’re completely out of control, and who doesn’t fucking hate that, despite best efforts to deny it. You give your heart to someone, entirely unaware of what they’ll do with it. They could destroy it. You give your heart away and you allow someone to destroy you.

The impossible mountain of “what if” is never higher or more terrifying or less conquerable than when you’re in love.

But isn’t that just how it is? It’s ungovernable, completely.

So don’t try to control it, for God’s sake, let it be. Give up the notion that you ever had any say in it to begin with.

Just release the brakes and fall.

<3C

a stranger

I remember the first time I saw him. On the street corner - the intersection with the library on one side and the Dunkin Donuts on the other. He was leaning against the wall of the library and I fell in love with him a little bit for that. I thought of how perfect it must have been that I was there while he was there and amongst so many people in such a hurry, I saw him in the background of it all.

I slung my bag back over my shoulder and hurried across the street. Amidst the noise of cars, the clanging metal of the trains, and the private conversations of people made not-so-private in such a public setting, I was wondering what his voice sounded like and how many times we’d kiss before he said “I love you”.

The train platform was filled with people, and felt very lonely. I called my girlfriend and she asked why I was sad, so I told her I’d had a dream I couldn’t shake — I was taller than anything but as light as a feather, and I leapt on the rooftops and walked all over the world. She remarked that she loved my spirit and couldn’t wait to leap with me. I said I loved her and she kissed the receiver.

That night, and many a-night since, I dreamt I was a giant who slept atop the library, and he stands on the corner, sometimes leaning against me, sometimes only ever looking across the street. Every night he is steadfast. Every night I retreat to my world of memory where he and I exist together, alone.

I never saw him again.

—-

<3C

the city & the world

I drudged up the narrow, concrete stairwell toward the roof of my building, packing my cigarettes as I went.

The air was cold and crisp; I inhaled slowly and felt it travel to my lungs and leave a lingering chill. I re-wrapped my scarf for good measure.

 

I never told anyone about my access to the roof. In a city so crowded, and in a life so shared, I held on to my secret rooftop as though it would destroy me if anyone found out. Maybe it would.

 

“Do you have a spare?”

 

………….

 

“Why are you up here?” I asked, handing the cigarette back to him.

“I like this city. Very much, I really do. But I just wanted to see the sky.” He took a long drag, his stare never leaving mine, and blew the smoke out in a quick exhale. “Do yanno what I mean?”

 

I looked at him for a second longer, then up at the sky. It was grey — winter grey. The clouds were thick and sad, blending seamlessly into the city’s concrete skyline.

 

“This sky just makes me want to take a nap.”

 

He laughed quietly, the air from his breath seemed no different than the smoke.

“Up here, we’re above everything, more or less. Up here there is a horizon, there’s a skyline. You don’t have to look straight up to see it. On the streets we’re blocked and barricaded by buildings and people. I feel much less small standing on a rooftop. Sometimes I just need to feel less like I’m part of a city, and more like I’m part of the world.”

 

I considered what he said, but didn’t respond. He put out his cigarette and smiled at me, and though he was only standing there, inoffensively, offering up a sliver of insight which I probably needed to hear, I’d never felt smaller.

—-
<3C

@hitRECord

A Moment

“Do you love me?” She whispered into the crook of his neck, as they laid underneath purple sheets, making their nighttime darkness even darker. They reveled in their solitude.


“I do,” he said. “I do love you.” He felt her lips shift into a smile.
“I love you, too.” She said carefully, walking her fingers along his collarbone.
He looked at her and smiled in return. “You are my favorite monster.”
He was her favorite kind of poetry. The chestnut brown, constant mess which was his hair — left in turmoil from running his hands through it whenever concentrating. His unnaturally dark eyes, and the languid movement of his mouth when he spoke. 

“Do you remember what I told you when we first met?” He asked this quietly, as though sharing a secret, though they were quite alone.
“I do,” she answered, grinning once more into his skin. “Say it again.”
“Of all the adventures in all the world; of all the demons to conquer and the monsters to make and the stories to tell — There is nothing quite so magical,” he paused, traced the angle of her jaw, and kissed her. “As the adventure of you.”

Of course.

Always.

Your tangled hair, your sunburst eyes. 

Wondering, wandering; you cradle promises in your arms, to keep them safe, to keep them true. Hummed lullabies while we sleep, dreaming of days we haven’t shared yet. In love with every footstep. Poetry in every hour.

I’m dying… you’re dying. Let’s talk about.
How many more minutes, how many more breaths? How many more moments until we are finalized and floating lazily in the stars that birthed us?
I’ve forgotten what my heartbeat sounds like without yours.

Of course I’m scared.

Always you.

—-

Brittany asked me to write something and I completely disregarded what she requested because I’m terrible. I started out with her request, but it worked itself into something entirely different.

Here at hitRECord.

<3C

New Methods of Preservation (a continuation of mundane sorts)

I’ve started to see you in the most mundane things.
The curve of your spine matches the iron fence outside of the building. Raindrops cling to the window in the same patterns that the shower water lingered on your shoulder. The crystalline vase I keep, perpetually empty, on the mantle is the precise green of your eyes.

Of course, your eyes are livelier.

The scratches from when we bought that piano and tried to move it ourselves remain on the hardwood floor of the hallway. I still never chew spearmint, though it used to be my favorite.

I was told that your absence would not be so vibrant as my life carried on. Quinn told me, one night at the cafe, “Eventually he will sink into the walls and the furniture, and become a trace of life instead of a ghost. A gust of wind through chimes. A picture kept in a box.” 

I thanked him, sincerely, for his concern, and for such attentive kindness, and in turn he only ever spoke of your memory.

When I say I’m fine, I’m met with looks of sadness, of concern.

"I know he’s with me, always," I said, smiling, at the first Chanukah dinner without you. My mom told my dad I’m in denial. My dad turned the page of his book and said, "She’s coping."
People aren’t quite sure what to do, after all this time. 

Your family remains uncertain of how to act around me. They invite me to join them for holiday meals, as they know you would have done. Keeping me in their lives is a way of keeping you alive. I know that it means more to them to find who took them away from you than it does to make sure that I’m doing okay. But still, they go about the motions. In your honor.

I am ever thankful for that. I would have missed them.

Oliver, I miss the heat of your skin, and the rise and fall of your breaths. I wish there would have been a way to keep all of you. But sacrifices had to be made. 

I found a way of preserving your eyes so that they never fade. That’s my way of preserving your memory. 

It’s suiting me just fine.

—-

<3C

HERE