You used to tremble
Against me like just the sight of
Goosebumps on my bare flesh was
Electrifying enough to set your nerves on edge
You had to be nervous, if
Your hands could speak
They would have left whispers
On my hips, a lover’s kiss
Remember the ninth of September?
You told me you loved me
Under the covers, mid-sentence
I hadn’t felt that way before
(I never have since)
3AM Thoughts // AKA “You Still Cross My Mind After All This Time.”
i lied. i never
burned those polaroids – does that
make you blush or boil?
3AM Thoughts // AKA “Haiku 168.”
Your hands twist in my
hair, a whisper, beautiful.
Let me drink you in.
3AM Thoughts // AKA “Haiku 163.”
In love with all the
versions of my past selves and
what I could have been.
3AM Thoughts // AKA “Haiku 87.”
There are some places
In the world where I swear I
Can still feel you there.
3AM Thoughts // AKA “Haiku 68.”
The sickening moment of
It can’t be real, go back
The infinitesimal seconds between before and
After where everything is different
When it’s all so new that
You can’t even feel the hurt yet
The twenty-three seconds of suspense
Of self-induced purgatory, of serendipitous imbalance
Floating in a daze and staring in wonderment at
Karmic retribution, a vicious circle
The tricks a tired brain plays and
The drunk heavy tongue telling you it could have been worse
And you know it’s true but you still want
Seventy-five seconds of mourning
Or maybe twenty-four hours of loathing
Cursing the ill-fated luck that brought you
This lesson, imaging what you could have done differently until
It all blurs and you lose touch with reality
3AM Thoughts // AKA “He Watches With Disdain As I Disappear Inside My Mind.”
The psyche is much smarter than consciousness allows.
We bury things so deep we no longer remember there was anything to bury.
Our bodies remember. Our neurotic states remember. But we don’t.
Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal? // Jeanette Winterson
I may think of you softly from time to time.
But I’ll cut off my hand before I ever reach for you again.
The Crucible // Arthur Miller
I am no longer in love with her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
// Pablo Neruda
I want a tattoo of the first morning we woke up together.
I want the memory to hurt.
// Clementine von Radics