The cities swept about me like dead leaves, leaves that were brightly colored but torn away from the branches. I would have stopped, but I was pursued by something. Perhaps it was a familiar bit of music. Perhaps it was only a piece of transparent glass...
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The curse may be knowing
but the blessing is that you still care anyway
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The air is colder than it should be.
It wraps around my arms like a warning. Like it knows I’m not supposed to be here.
But I come anyway.
He is sitting by the fountain, elbows on his knees, fingers loosely clasped. The moonlight carves soft shadows across his face, and for a second, I let myself believe we’re still us.
That he still wants to be.
“You always come here when you’re trying not to think.”
He doesn’t jump. Just breathes in deeper, like he expected me.
“Thinking is the only thing I have control over” he says under his breath. “I was just leaving” he mutters louder.
I sit beside him. Not close enough to touch, but close enough to remember what it felt like when I could.
“So don’t think. Just… stay,” I say.
He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks up at the sky like it might offer him a different life.
“Do you remember the night we first came out here?” I ask, softer now.
He nods. Smiles faintly.
“You were wearing that ridiculous silver scarf.”
“It wasn’t ridiculous. It was elegant.”
“It got caught in the hedge.”
We both laugh. Quiet, broken laughter.
And for a moment, just one, he looks at me like maybe he’s still here.
Like maybe this isn’t the end.
But then he looks away again.
And I feel it. The shift. It’s sharp, painful, dully excruciating. It fills space where we used to live.
“You’ve already decided, haven’t you?” I whisper.
He doesn’t nod. He doesn’t speak.
But the silence does.
“It’s her.”
Still no answer.
Because he doesn’t need to say it.
Because I already knew.
“Please, don’t.”
My voice is calm. Too calm. It betrays nothing. Not the shaking in my hands. Not the scream in my chest.
And,
Still, some broken part of me wants more..
To believe theres a chance in this story he will chose me, and maybe, I pray, even love me back.
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I never wanted to hurt her. That matters. It does.
Or maybe I did. Because, if I’m honest, there was a time when I couldn’t tell the difference between surviving and controlling.
I don’t think I always knew what I was doing.
All I knew was the sharpness it left in me. And sometimes I pointed that sharpness at her because she was still soft, while I was already hardening.
There was a day, she probably doesn’t remember, but I do.
Our Father’s anger spilled over as his fist made the dog cry. The sound of it. The helplessness.
I could feel fear running warm down my thighs. I didn’t move. Not because I didn’t care, but because my body decided that disappearing was safer than screaming.
There was another day, quieter, when he handed her a popsicle, then handed himself one, and told me there were only two.
And that was the end of it. No story. No space. No sugar left.
I remember our rooms. Hers- new, soft, planned. A Winnie the Pooh mural painted on the wall like someone had imagined joy for her.
Mine- hand-me-downs, a single balloon painted above the bed like a placeholder. Who knew how quiet the sound of second place could be?
It wasn’t her fault.
But the ache had nowhere to go.
And so sometimes it landed on her.
Not because I didn’t love her, but because I believed that she was the kind of child my parents knew how to love
and I wasn’t.
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I stalk myself
On the internet
Just to see
What you’ll find
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I’m slipping back into the hedge maze
Oh what a way to die
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Unrepressed memories
- Chelsea
- gum from Vons that is in yellow bag and tiny pieces has coinstar in Vons
- Minnie Mouse wall paper
- condo where I fell in uncomfortable position and bike almost cut off finger from chains
- balloons for wallpaper in condo
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“She’s out of my league”
That’s what my soul mate would say lol
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On the way down , I saw you & you saved me from myself
And I won’t forget the way you love me
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I brought those pills I thought I would need, and I wrote a letter to my family, said it’s not your fault, no you’ve been good to me, just lately I’ve been feeling like I don’t belong, like the grounds not mine to walk upon, and I’ve heard that music echo through the house where my grandmother…
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Reframing
When circumstances become challenging I tell myself that life is testing me to see if I love myself. Can I love myself in this situation? OK, now what about that? Can I love myself when it feels messy? When I’m alone? In uncertainty?  and if I don’t, do I love myself enough to try? To want to be better?
It might be a practice of forced self compassion or just a means for me to label and intellectualize to gain a semblance of control. But regardless, it makes me feel lighter. And maybe that’s all living is about anyway. Learning how to love and be loved. To break and be put back together. 
 distilling
I let different thoughts consume me now.
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