Gone

Lying on her trampoline staring up at a once starry sky while we strive to be understood. I may never be here again.

Listening to my teacher explain the various characters in the hero's journey before we watch Lord of the Rings. I will never be here again.

Walking down crowded hallways full of too many happy, depressed, immature, grown-up, purposeful, confused teenage souls. I hope I am never there again.

Finding friends in unexpected places, but making the most of it. It would be nice to be there again.

Crying endlessly about things that don't mean much to anyone else, but are deeply important to me. It would surprise me if I wasn't here again.

Taking a bow on the last night of a show. I might be there again, but it's more likely that I won't.

Laughing in her car until she has to put it into park so we can stop to breathe, because we're giggly around each other. I had better be here again.

Deciding things that will probably affect the rest of my life and then regretting them. It would be nice if I wasn't there again.

Sitting in her kitchen talking about literature and music until the fear of my curfew forces me to go home. I am certain I will be here again.

Saying goodbye to the people who have changed my life in ways I can never explain. I don't want to be there again.

Sitting in his truck late at night watching the lights in the distance and learning to trust. It wouldn't hurt to be there again.

Letting him play me a song on the piano that I know I've heard before, but I don't know where. I desperately hope I am here again.

Falling in love with someone who doesn't feel the same way. I will probably be there again.

Making any difference in somebody's life. I will be here again.


So much is changing. So much will never be the same. So much is gone. But what's important to me is still there. Maybe changed, but not gone. Never gone.

Falling Out of Love

It took me so long to realize this, but I'm not in love with you anymore. I haven't been for a while now. 

I'm not in love with you, I'm in love with the idea of you. I'm in love with the idea of being in love... 

I was in love with the idea of being in love with you. 

I was in love with the memories of you. 

I was in love with the idea of us being an us. 

But in the end, I was still only in love with an idea. I've realized that my feelings for you are just a mirage, and now I can walk right through them because there's nothing there, really. They're just a figment of my hallucinations. 
 

It still hurt a lot, but not as much as I expected, when you distanced yourself from me. It was wonderful while it lasted, but it's over now, and I can handle that, because after so long, I've finally fallen out of love. 

At long last, I am finally free.

Oh, and for the record, I'd like to stay that way.

Cracks in the Screen

I'm cracked. I've been injured and damaged and fractured but I'm still not exactly sure why or how and I'm trying to figure it out.

I'm crazy. I have too many homeless words and not enough people to tell them to.

I'm lonely. I have made and lost friends my entire life. I haven't spoken to some in years, but I still remember them and I always will. I miss them.

I'm broken. He may have broken my heart, but I'm trying not to let him break my soul. I know he never meant to hurt me, but he did. He held my hand tighter than necessary, enough that for the tiniest sliver of a moment I let myself believe he might feel about me the same way I feel about him.

I'm defeated. They tell me I've never seemed this defeated before, but I've never felt this defeated before.

I'm scared. I don't know what should happen after my worst nightmare comes true. My dreams have all become nightmares, so maybe I'll just say good night to my dreams.

I'm masochistic. Being near him is the most beautiful torture I've ever experienced. Why do I keep hurting myself? 

I'm poetic. Because poetry is really just words bleeding from a pen onto paper, and these words were written with my blood and sealed with my tears, and I think I enjoy using metaphors and run-on sentences.

I'm defiant. People keep telling me that it's wonderful to get older. From my experience, all I've noticed is that the older you get the grayer your hair is and the more dead people you know.

I'm uncertain. Sometimes I wonder who I pray to every night. And I wonder if He still listens to people who call Him by the wrong name. 

I'm conflicted. I wish you would stop, because my heart is breaking, but I want you to keep going, because I like the feeling. 

I'm alive. I feel like I'm on fire at the thought of him ever loving me. But I know that will never happen, so I need to stop thinking about it. 

I'm distracted. Because there are some things I just don't want to remember. I wish I could forget the confusion and the hallucinations and the heartbreak and why are the memories I still have the ones I wish I could forget? Because you forget what you want to remember and you remember what you want to forget.

I'm timeless. I feel younger than my body but older than my soul. So disjointed and out of place within myself.

I'm lost. I'm floating in an endless sea with no idea where the shore might be, and I can't stop using these metaphors.

I'm childish. I don't like being alone in the dark. I think I still believe there are monsters under my bed.

I'm pensive. I can't stop thinking about how much I miss what I never had, what could have been. I didn't realize how much the smell of summer makes me sad. It makes me miss that something I can't name.

I'm delusional. I have conversations with him in my head all the time. I should stop doing that. I probably won't.

I'm serene. It's silent, and the best kind of silence is when you're with another person but neither one of you feel the need to fill the silence.

I'm afraid. I'm terrified of being with someone, but honestly, I'm even more scared of being alone.

I'm hurt. A scream tears itself from my throat when I see the scarlet blood running in streams down my arm and I'm still stuck on these metaphors because the blood isn't real but I feel like it is and all I can smell is the metallic scent of blood.

I'm cracked. These are the cracks in my screen. The cracks in my sanity. The cracks in my soul.

Light: Part I of Elysium

It's hard to find the light these days. 

Even though it's been a year and a half, I still use the peppermint soap that smells like Christmas and heartbreak because heaven needed an angel but it had to be her. I don't think heaven needs any more angels for a while. I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes, suspended on my lashes as they decide whether or not to fall, but nothing gold can stay and she was more golden than most.

And they fall. The salt of my tears stings my eyes, but it's a good kind of pain.

I'll never forget when I laid on her bed and fell asleep to the sound of her voice. I wish I'd gotten the chance to say goodbye. No, I had the chance. I wish I'd taken it.

Nine days later I was away from home and I smelled the lotion she always used. I almost started crying right there in the middle of Bath & Body Works. 

Last week I stepped into her room for the first time since she died. Even though there was still the blue and white bedspread, and the television, and the wooden board with the family birthdays written on it, it was empty because there was a wheelchair in the corner and the pillow my sister made for her was still lying on the bed. It felt like no one had been there in a while. The clock hasn't even been changed back to daylight standard time. I couldn't help my tears. I put some of that lotion on, too. It's still in the same spot on the counter in the kitchen. I don't think he has the heart to move it. It would feel like letting her go.

Every time I read the book she gave me I feel a little bit closer to her and to heaven because it's from 1937 and it smells like old pages and years of love. At least I kept the birthday cards from every year, so I won't forget how her spidery handwriting looked. I'm afraid I'm already forgetting the sound of her voice.

I went for a drive and turned up the music so I wouldn't have to think, because thinking means feeling and my heart is battered enough already, but turning the music up just made it worse. And I didn't want to go home but eventually I did.

If I were to die today, I would visit each of my friends and tell them how much they mean to me. I would take my family out to dinner and tell them I didn't really mean to go so soon. I would let them know that as hard as it sometimes is to believe, I really do love them. But in the end, I would drive to the overlook and watch as it got dark, and I would look out at the valley for as long as I could. And then at last I would join her and all the other angels I hope are waiting for me. 

Maybe there's some light after all.

What They Said: Part I of Voices

"Sit down and give up," they said;

she closed her eyes and listened.

And the dark crept in.

....

"You'll always be broken," they said;

she gave in and let herself sleep.

And the doubt crept in. 

....

"Nobody will protect you," they said;

she froze in helpless terror. 

And the fear crept in. 

....

"You'll never be good enough," they said;

she lost hope she'd ever smile again. 

And the guilt crept in. 

....

"You'll always be alone," they said;

her tears rained like blood. 

And the grief crept in. 

....

"No one could ever love you," they said;

a scream tore itself from her throat. 

And the pain crept in. 

....

....

....

....

"You're not perfect, you're loved," he said;

she hesitantly opened her eyes. 

And the hope crept in. 

....

"Broken can be beautiful," he said;

she started fighting the lies. 

And the peace crept in. 

....

"Don't doubt yourself," he said;

she thought she could smile again. 

And the trust crept in. 

....

"I'm still here for you," he said;

she decided to feel once more. 

And the love crept in. 

....

"I love you," she said;

his smile dried her tears. 

And the faith crept in. 

....

"I love you, too," he said;

she smiled back at him. 

And the light crept in. 

Labyrinth

I've spent my entire life in this labyrinth but I've never gotten lost because it's inside me. Inside my mind. I'm only lost if I want to be and the deeper I go into the maze the more I can hide myself. And I'm the only one who can get in and out. 

At first there's just a long hallway, with doors on either side. These are the shallow things- whether or not my room is clean, which clothes look good together. I probably spend more time here than I should.

When you reach the end of the hallway you'll have two choices. To the right you should see a door with the word 'secrets' scrawled across the top. I'd rather not let you in there right now, so take a left up the staircase to everything that is constantly on my mind. It's a long staircase. At the top is a semicircle of doors. There are five of them that you could explore. The door to the far left is Guilt. The sweatshirt that was never returned, the little white lies I told, all the promises I didn't keep. Behind the next door is Failures. In there are all the shows I was never cast in, all the scholarships I never received, all the goals I never reached. This door is reopened every time I add a new item to the list, which is much too often. 

To the right there are better things. The far right door is Comfort, everything that makes me feel confident about myself, such as friends I've made and compliments I've received. Next to it is Accomplishments: the good grades I've gotten, how my room is always clean, how I manage my time.

The door in the middle is Love. Behind it are two hallways. One slopes upward, the other down. The first one leads to a large room, very simply designed but tastefully decorated. Pictures of my family, immediate and extended, sit on the tables, while those of my friends adorn the walls. This is where I keep a record of every person I've ever loved, however briefly or deeply. Usually it isn't noticed, but there is a small closet to the side of the room. In there are all the living corpses of loved ones that will never stop haunting me. That door is kept under lock and key- opening it releases a flood of emotions I don't want to deal with. In the back of the larger room there is a door that leads to another hall on the right, and a staircase going down right ahead of you.

If you'd gone down the other hall, you'd have entered a huge ballroom that could have and would have been magnificent if not for the damage that has happened. This is my romance. The tapestries have been ripped to ribbon-like shreds and the wallpaper is faded and peeling. The high ceiling is cracked and looks like it will collapse inward at any given moment. And there are the chandeliers. Crystalline glass prisms that have crashed to the dull marble floor and shattered into hundreds of thousands of tiny fragments. Be careful not to cut your feet on the broken glass as you walk to the back of the room into another hallway. Right and up a staircase that leads you to a door ahead or another hallway on the left. No matter whether you take the upward or the downward hall initially, you'll still end up in the same place.

This hall is a long one, with lots of twists and turns and it's always getting longer, because the walls are lined with all my memories. I can see when I said my last goodbye to the family dog when I was five. I can read about how I felt like a princess when I learned to sing 'Silent Night' in German in the third grade. I can look at the outcast I was in fourth grade when we studied the medieval period. I can watch myself cry when I discovered we were moving, and recall all the schools I went to and all the friends I never had in elementary school. I can read what I wrote about the first day of seventh grade and the feeling of finally belonging after 12 years of isolation. I can remember having to leave that behind again to enter high school, and then I found a place here, too. I can watch myself die and be brought back to life better than I was before... I've relived all the sorrow and tears and pain as well as the laughter and joy and love. This hallway is one of my favorites to walk through because I can see in it everything that has created me. This hall is always getting longer as I make new memories, those of school dances and more hours spent at school than at home and becoming friends with my grandparents. 

At the end of this hallway is where I keep the essence of me. It's a library that started out small at first but has grown as I have become more and more human. There are shelves and shelves of books that hold my identity. Some of these books I've never even opened, unwilling to find out more about myself than I want to know. But there are others I read constantly. They tell me about who I am on a deeper level than most people will ever know. They tell me what helps me discover myself. They tell me where I turn when I need to escape. They tell me what heals me. This library is my sanctuary. Sometimes I let someone borrow a book or two or three, but I've never let anyone in before. I keep the library in the best condition I can. If my library is in order I can handle anything. Sometimes I lose it and my library faces the consequences, but I always set it to rights again, and then I cherish it even more than before. When I feel lost in life, I go to my library and then I don't feel so lost.

My mind is sort of like a labyrinth, but I'd guess it's a lot like yours. I've almost gotten lost inside my own mind, though, and it's time to leave. Time to retrace my steps back through the memories and love and stress to where I began. Thanks for coming with me.

A Love Letter

To no one in particular, 


Love isn't supposed to hurt like this, but I can't stop crying. I think about it daily and every time it just hurts worse. I thought heartbreak was just a figure of speech until I felt the pain in my chest, right under my rib cage on the left side. For some reason the pain won't go away.

Love is the reason I'm awake past midnight writing this. I can't find a word that really describes the feeling, but sometimes words just get in the way anyway.

Tell me, is there someone out there who will love me no matter what? Because that's all I want right now. Someone to always love me. Even when my hair isn't done and and my eyes are red from crying. Even when I'm wearing pajamas and no makeup. Even when I eat big firsts and bigger seconds and still go back for thirds. Even when I make mistakes. So tell me.

Tell me what to do when my heart is breaking but he isn't there because he's desperately in love with someone else and I think I saw them holding hands today. Yesterday. Whatever. Tell me what to do when the tears keep falling without my permission. But most of all just tell me that he's out there somewhere and he's right for me and I'm right for him. Because all I find myself doing right now is crying and waiting. And it gets harder and more painful to keep waiting.

Maybe it is meant to hurt this much.


-From no one in particular

Dreaming

The sky is getting darker but the streetlights and headlights and houselights are getting in the way so I can't see the stars anymore. I wish they would turn off the lights, because the stars can't shine without darkness, and when I finally get away from all the lights, the stars shine brighter and then I think of you.

You always liked looking at the stars. I remember the night that all you wanted to do was look at them. You just wanted to look at the stars. And so did I. So I put my head on your shoulder and we watched them until we fell asleep.

It's so dark out but I can still see the clouds, like a mermaid's long, pale fingers stretching out into a deep blue-black sea, searching for the small white diamonds called stars. Dreaming of touching them. I want to touch them.

But every time the mermaid gets close enough to touch, the stars somehow just slip through her fingers. It's all right, though, because it's the dreaming that matters, even though it sometimes hurts.

And I'm going to keep dreaming. 

Time Passes

Seconds

                      Minutes

                                   Hours

                                       DAYS

                                    Weeks

                                             Months

                                                                                 Y  e  a  r  s

It's been a lifetime since I entered the world as an outcast. Since I retreated into myself and my books and immersed myself in learning, and somewhere deep inside me I resigned myself to the very real possibility that I will forever be in this painful isolation. So long since I became me in a way that I never want to be me again. Since I started looking for the meaning of being alive, not just living.

Time passed.

It's been years since I was forced to pick up everything and move to another state. I always knew we wouldn't be there for very long and that just made me more and more... lonely. Haunted by the memory  of my once-friends saying they would write me every day. I never received a single letter.

Time passed. 

It's been months since I walked into the dim, white hospital room and said goodbye for the very last time. It was the last day of December and it was freezing outside, but it wasn't as cold as my heart was. Not even near that cold.

Time passed. 

It's been weeks since he put his arms around me and held my hand and held me close and my heart beat in my chest. For a moment I let myself hope, but then I had to remind myself that he was only putting on a show.

Time passes. 

It's been days since I laid on the grass and lifted my face to heaven and poured my heart out into the stream and felt loved and understood by the people who mean the most to me.

Time passes. 

It's been hours since I heard her crying and didn't know what to do, and I decided not to care about class so I could talk to her and feel like we were friends again.

Time passes. 

It's been minutes since I thought I might have been falling out of love.

Time passes. 

It's been seconds since---

But time still passes.

Wondering

Why we                                                                            all seem
to  want happy                                                                endings. I wonder
 why we don't notice                                                            the everyday miracles.
       I wonder how long it takes                                             for two people to fall in love.
      I wonder who will remember                                          me, who'll come to my funeral.
I wonder why people put on masks.                         I wonder why I'm so bad at saying
goodbye. I wonder what my life is worth to      other people. I wonder what it's worth
to me. I wonder how I can help the people        I love. I wonder if they even want
my help. I wonder how much I'll remember        in 60 years. If I'll be alive in
60 years. I wonder if I'll just be another        face in a yearbook. I wonder
why some people are born beautiful.        I wonder why I'm still here.
I wonder where here is. I wonder        how far I'd go to save a loved
one. I wonder why people wait        till they're dying to be happy.
 I wonder how I can find true        happiness. I wonder if my
dream will come true. I        wonder when I lost my child-
hood. I wonder if        I'm alive or just living.
I wonder why        fear stops people. I
wonder when        I'll find home.
And I        wonder if I
will       ever stop
wondering.