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i cannot figure out what is so intoxicating about you. there are a million lyrics that have been running laps around my brain, all of them painful.

we didn’t work, you and i. you were a shiny new object and i was your gateway drug. it came crashing down like the waves at the beach we never got to go to, and i spent the last 7 months desperately trying to forget how when you touched me it was like a million fires lighting all at once. now i’ve spent the last 3 nights laying next to you, and i’ve learned that time and heartbreak and anger did nothing to extinguish a single one of those fires.

two nights ago, when i got up to leave, you wrapped your whole body around me, clinging to me how i clung to you while locked in my uptown apartment as a virus killed twenty thousand of my neighbors. i needed you then, and now we’re back to our old habits, staying awake till daylight pretending that there is an ounce of future for us. we both know there isn’t. but neither of us will confront that. we can’t.

’tis. the. damn. season.

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okay me

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black lives matter. unfollow me if you disagree

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Overthinking is no joke. That shit eats you up on the inside

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I want you to come back. With me. I want us to be together.

God’s Own Country (2017) dir. Francis Lee

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“i. i am eighteen and you are twenty-two and i am not in love with you yet. we’re skyping and it’s silent when you ask me if i’ve ever thought about dating a boy and i know what you’re trying to ask. i change the subject and ignore the way my stomach drops when you bite your lip and don’t look me in the eye when you say you have to log off. ii. you are twenty-three and today i am turning nineteen and your hand is lingering for too long on the small of my back. the streets are crowded and if we weren’t as close as we are i would think you were just trying to help me, but i know you too well to fall for that. we go to starbucks and you buy me a caramel macchiato; we are a mess of tangled legs and shy smiles hidden behind china coffee cups as we nestle on our favorite sofa. i forget for a moment that you are in love with me. iii. i am twenty and i went to a university near you because we are best friends. you asked me to live with you and i said yes because we’re best friends, aren’t we? best friends can hold hands sometimes, you tell me when we are cuddled on the couch watching reruns of shitty reality shows. i’ve never had a best friend before i met you and when it’s our first new year’s eve together in your apartment and you press a sloppy drunk kiss to my lips i let you, because that’s what best friends do, isn’t it? iv. you just turned twenty-six and i am wildly in love with you. you blow out the candles on your cake and my arms are crossed tightly over my chest; i give you an even tighter smile when you look at me with your wide blue eyes. this will not be the year when i tell you i love you, i remind myself as you finally look away from me and back to your parents. v. i am twenty-three and you are not in love with me anymore. i can see it in the way you look at me now, colder than before but warm enough that you can fool others who might be watching. you know that i’m still awake at four in the morning and you know that i can’t sleep without knowing that you aren’t mad at me, but you woke up mad and haven’t talked to me for a day and a half. i’m sorry that i missed out on you. vi. it is only when you are cradling my face in your warm hands and asking me why i won’t talk to you that i blurt out, i have loved you since i was eighteen, and realize that it’s true even as you drop your hands and stare at me, even as i press my lips to yours and you don’t kiss me back, even as you leave the flat and come back drunk, even as i let you kiss me when i know you won’t remember in the morning. i have loved you since you were eighteen, you murmur against the shell of my ear, and i let myself believe it until i wake up and you’re not there.”

— 18, h.b.

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