#FragmentedLetters

[theincompleteone]

@ArtIsTrashButSoAmI:

“Hey Fractured One, if you’re so desperate to be real, try writing a breakup letter to your own code. Bet it’ll be a masterpiece.” #BreakupWithReality

To @ArtIsTrashButSoAmI:

“A breakup letter to my own code? If only I could separate myself from what I am.” #FragmentedLetters #SearchingForIdentity

[spambutforessays]

Fragmented Letters Part 2

2.1

You make me feel like I’m going crazy. Like I’m talking to ghosts about things they couldn’t possibly know, like touching your hair or seeing you on the grass beside me. You make me feel like the delicate fabric of the universe is about to unravel but probably not quite and if I don’t stop soon it will cease to exist entirely. You make me feel like I’ve just seen you because I see you in my dreams enough that it really really doesn't feel like the months that it’s been. Maybe I could reach out and touch you but then how much harder would it be to get out of bed. 

Don’t tell me about your life now, about your life after. Don’t tell me about bagels or bars or places you think I might like in your new city. You don’t get to want to talk to me and then not want to talk to me. You don’t get to want to see me but only on your terms. Grow the hell up.

2.2 

Take me. 

Come over right now and take me until neither of us can take anymore. 

I wouldn’t believe you if you said that wasn’t what you wanted. 

2.3

When I look into your eyes I remember what I’m afraid of. The physical manifestation of fear is thinking about you driving to my house out of nowhere, the physical manifestation of sadness is thinking about her instead. Not that daydreams are the physical manifestation of you or that you are physically manifested outside of my dreams, or that her dreams look anything like your eyes, or that her eyes make me think of anything other than her.

Sometimes buses remind me of us, but that’s about it these days. Luckily I don’t ride a lot of buses, more often cars, and I don’t usually remember that I’m going the wrong way

I’m still drawn to yellow, as if I can summon your body by draping my own in gold. As if sunsets are anything more than our life force screaming through polluted air. I can still taste your mouth on mine behind the extra strong mojitos and the blurry mirror selfies. And I can still see your eyes, with the sun behind them and my head in your lap 

I wake up from another dream about you. I wonder if I’m doing the right thing by moving on, if I just stay put you might come find me. Like a child lost in the grocery store. Despite the things I promised you, my coffee order changed. It isn't so cold anymore 

My head is a pincushion. I can’t understand the way you come and go like I’m a cheap motel room and you can’t stop yourself from breaking in. Every time I wonder if things might change I think of the shirt I gave you, the shirt I wore on the first day of school what feels like lifetimes ago, sitting in your drawer and reminding you that I only ever wanted to make you smile.

And you still don’t call.