We Had Such A Sweet Beginning, And I Wish We Had A Sweet End.We Started In Such A Cliche, A Meet-cute,

We had such a sweet beginning, and I wish we had a sweet end. We started in such a cliche, a meet-cute, a rom-com. A fucking mission trip. We flirted like children because we were, and you held my hand in the back of the van when I pretended to be sleepy so you would offer your shoulder, and you were secretly satisfied because you had been looking for an excuse to. I kept my eyes closed and pretended to sleep for two hours because my heart couldn't handle the way your hand felt in mine and when we got out of the van and you smiled at me my mom said she heard angels singing. Fucking angels and then so many tears and now I don't hear any angels singing and I wish everything still sparkled as it did I wish my heart fluttered as it did but it doesn't and all of me hurts and all I hear is the blood rushing in my ears.

-After, July 2023 (s.m.)

𝙹𝚞𝚕𝚢 𝟷, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟹 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝙾𝚏 𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚣 𝙺𝚊𝚏𝚔𝚊, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟶-𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟹

[ID: July 1. The wish for an unthinking, reckless solitude. To be face to face only with myself. END ID]

There's a song

about all those abandoned playlists,

painful memories linked to lyrics,

about losing the songs you once loved

now spoils of heartbreak.

Every time we would sing the chorus,

I would say how ironic it would be

that if we ever broke up,

I wouldn't be able to listen to that song.

Here we are,

I just deleted it from my playlist,

it hurt too much.

-After, July 2023

(s.m.)

I met a boy I think I loved in a past life. The first time we met, he sat a couple seats away from me in class and as the time ticked on he eventually looked my way and as our eyes crossed for just a second something in my heart exploded.

I never knew why but the second he walked into the room I was only aware of him and how he moved and the soft curls of his hair. I would glance out of the corner of my eye ever couple minutes to see the shape of his mouth as he talked or catch his eye, just once, like I couldn't stand to stop looking at him.

One time, he told me he liked my coat and I think I said that to him years ago, sliding the wool between my fingers, looking up at him through my lashes. I thought about his words for days after, like they were written on my bones.

My friend swears he looks at me like he is coming home from war.

I think he did, or maybe he didnt.

Maybe he never came home from the war and our love died in a foreign land and now, finally, we can lay eyes on one another again.

I swear we loved each other, but now we are strangers and I am stuck watching him, lingering in the room waiting to be acknowledged because my soul remembers and I am hoping his does as well.

We walk past each other on the sidewalk and I think of running my fingers through his curls as he gives me that small smile, but he keeps walking.

-After the After, July 2023

(s.m.)

I saw you took her to an art museum, or maybe she took you. Maybe she was happy to open herself up and you were happy to be let in.

You took pictures of the exhibits and you probably stood next to her, admiring the work before you like you know so fucking much about art.

We never went to an art museum. You never asked and I never shared because I think deep down I didn't feel like you cared because anytime I told you about my writing you reaction was lacluster so why would I share more?

My life is art, my soul is art, my breath is art, and my brain has only ever thought in colors and prose and brush strokes but you took Her to an art museum. You admired the art with Her. Not me, even though the last time I went to a museum I saw a Van Gogh and cried my eyes out, even though I could spend hours roaming the halls.

You didnt see me, I don't think. Because anytime you talked about art or beauty it was never my name you conjured up for the task. Five years by my side and you still never fucking saw me in the end.

And now you go to an art museum, with her, as if my blood isn't splattered on ever piece hanging on the wall. But you don't see it, you don't see me, you never have.

-After, August 2023

(s.m.)

I always said I wholeheartedly believed in the idea that it was better to have loved and lost then never to have loved at all. I fell in love with Tennyson's In Memoriam by that line alone because I felt it in my soul. But here I am, flesh and blood, and the sinew holding together my heart aches every time it beats and I wish I had broken up with you years ago when the thought first crossed my mind.

-After, July 2023

(s.m.)