The night i met u i thought my heart was broke, but i had no idea what true heart break was until you left.

The night i met you i was rebounding.
You held me close, you understood.
It was comforting, a stranger you were there, and then you never left and everything changed.

The night i met you i was wounded, felt unloved and scared. You showed me what unconditional love looked like and i bought the goods and believed that i may have found the one.

The night met you i was getting back, railing against hurt and pain at my own expense. You knew i was out of it but you didn’t care, you went with the pain and i fell for you hard but when that got in the way of your life you bolted.

The night i met you you knew i was fragile. My accident made me afraid and and i felt so alone. You reached out to me to fill the void and i let the emotions pour out of you and in to me like a bottomless bucket. As i filled, I drained you. I kept taking more, you kept giving. It was a confusing time. Nothing seemed enough. You were not purposely taking advantage. Were you? And I let you. I let u hang out . I thought we were building a foundation. You always made me feel you were coming back. You did not want to hurt me. You wanted me to move on, but you just told me what i needed to hear. You said you cared about me. You told me things had changed – you supported me in every way. You were everything i never thought i needed, your eyes staring into mine, night after night, morning after morning- the most important mornings. My purple suitcase. Did i force you to stay? Long after you wanted to leave?

You built me up on playing cards and then took a deep breath and blew the foundation out from under my feet and took me back apart the way you found me. Broken. After your kindness put me back together. I fell down. You loved me but not before i allowed you to take away what you gave back to me when there was no more sand in the sandbox and it was no longer fun for you to play.

I allowed you in. I gave you power. I let you lead when i was too weak to walk on my own. I became vulnerable and i let you think you were helping. You were hurting. You created a dependence. You made me not want to wake up to anyone but you. You said “we were beautiful” you said “we” you told me you loved me yet you tried to leave all memories of us behind before you left – but i made you take them. Do you have them? Did U not love me enough to tell me the truth in a way i would hear it? Is silence the volume you want me to hear?

The night i met you i was broken. Without you i still feel broken. What was the point? What did i learn. Really.

You said that if the heart did not ache what would be the point. I have no desire to end my life in the bell jar of Sylvia Plath or in Franny or Zoey’s insanity. I do not wish to live like flowers in the attic, or be a tragic figure who drowns in her sorrow, yet you bring this deep, dark, dramatic shadow to life.

This apartmemt wreaks of your memories. Your smell. No paint job or perfume or new set of sheets will erase what i thought i meant to you.

I still live here. You chose to be gone. Things change but they stay the same. I am still broken you are still gone – wont you come back

Wont you knock on my door or use your key tears in your eyes asking to come back to me? Hold me close while you apologize, love me forever dont leave only grow and change forever. Is feeling deeply and honestly a mistake? To be deep, passionate, strong together. Bring me peace and bring me your love – just mean it this time and whisk me alway. Come back – speak to me or perhaps don’t speak at all.

Anything was possible when we were together. And as long as you have Hansel and Gretel’s wooden shoe…you always have a place near me.

he can keep his privileged drop out
l’enfant terribles
pitiful boys
never caught me in the rye

yet i long to share a table
with his glass family
so broken

joining hands to say the jesus prayer
before feasting on memories
of lost boys

seymour
served with banana fish
head of the table seated
quizzical
would ask his beloved
buddy
if he was writing his heart out

are you living with all your stars out?

Cover of Cat’s Cradle: A Novel

Last year, something wonderful happened to me: I fell in love. No, it wasn’t with a fellow student, and no, we have never actually spoken, but when I first picked up Slaughterhouse Five, I knew the love I felt for Kurt Vonnegut would never diminish.

So imagine my joy when my friend leant me Cat’s Cradle, and I was again immersed in a world of pathos, nihilism, imagination, and humor. I absolutely loved it! With its completely original and unclassifiable story line, ridiculously imaginative characters, and valuable message, Cat’s Cradle is a gorgeous, funny, sad, weird, wonderful classic.

I also just finished Franny and Zooey by J.D. Salinger and I (unexpectedly) loved it as well. I saw unexpectedly because I have a bit of a love-hate relationship with The Catcher in the Rye. (First I hated it, then I liked it, then I loved it, then I was annoyed by it, then I was tired of it, and now I like to think we’ve come to a sort of truce.) But to me, Franny and Zooey was like Catcher‘s slightly older, slightly more mature, but still angsty sibling. It was easy for me to relate to Franny’s academic discontent, her feelings of directionlessness and malaise, her devotion to an obscure novel. These are common late-adolescence/early-adulthood themes, and Salinger presented them beautifully and respectfully.

More later!

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