this is not a love story
i’ll be completely fucking honest and say that this is terrifying, writing this, reading this, giving this away like selling parts of my own body for spare change, because you will probably find this and read it and think she has written this about me, so listen, yes, this is about you, but it is also not about you at all, listen, when a writer falls in love (let’s pretend i am a writer and let’s pretend that i was in love), anything and everything she writes becomes that love, listen, it meant everything but now it means nothing and god it hurt but i’m so grateful that you didn’t love me back, look what i have made, look how ugly we could have been and look how beautiful we are now, listen, i’m sorry, but thank you.
i. i know a girl who makes it seem as though the world is alive and breathing just for me, and i think i may love her for it.
ii. you are beautiful, she tells me, you are worth so much more, she tells me, you need help, she tells me, i need you, i do not tell her.
iii. my mother taught me that hope is a dangerous thing, better to have none at all than to swallow it whole and drown in your own greed.
iv. (gluttony is the brightest of all sins, tastes sweeter than the dream of heart against my own.)
v. one day she will say that she loves me, with her hands tangled in my sleeves and a smile on her lips. she won’t mean it.
1. i dreamt of the stars unfurling like rose petals last night, and of reaching up into the clouds only to discover that they faded at my fingertips and left the sky hazy and blushing as though dusk was evanescing to reveal dawn blossoming in its place. the air was honeyed and gentle to touch and somehow i found myself wondering if her hand would feel just as soft and sweet in my own.
2. we ate strawberries together that one time, out under an evening mist scattered with peach-pit stars, and all i could think about was kissing her hard enough and gently enough for the ache in my chest to melt away like sugar grains poured into an open mouth.
3. somehow, i imagined that she’d taste of the colour pink dissolving on my tongue until i wasn’t really sure that she’d ever existed in the first place.