Let’s climb the tree

and sit on the branches

like fairies.

You throw grapes

and compliments

and I’ll take

Polaroids and

you forever.


It is coming

One day, you will radiate. You will exude happiness, you will vibrate on a different frequency.

Hope will move from a far away place and plant its roots in your bones. You will tremble with meaning and intent.

The smile on your face will not be fake, the laughs will be authentic and they will hurt your stomach.

The drinks will be sweeter, and not be as necessary.

You will breathe again, inhaling love instead of smoke.

Hold on tight; the day is coming.


The morning after

Today has been long and it’s only 10:15 am.

My heart feels like it’s been stretched out. It’s full but tired – as if it’s been running.

How fantastic it was being with you in your space again, sharing kisses and little smiles, smelling your sheets.

It’s always been so easy to lean against you, but this time it feels different.

As though I am heavier,

but brighter.


Things that keep me from sleeping

I wonder if you ever noticed that I chew on my toothbrush until the bristles stick out sideways. Or if you ever saw me drooling while I was sleeping.

I wonder if you remember the day I took those pills and didn’t answer my phone and you were so worried. Or the time my anxiety was out of control in Trader Joe’s and I hadn’t taken my Lexapro and you had to talk me off my ledge.

I wonder if you remember the way my hair smells or the way I clean countertops or the way my legs feel tangled with yours.

I can’t wait to see you.


*insert heart emoji*

Happiness has been on my mind almost constantly lately. How it looks different for every person but has this very general label we all are chasing. The pursuit of happiness. Sometimes I wonder if it’s all a facade. Actually the past two years or so I was almost completely convinced that it doesn’t exist for anyone; we all just fake it to each other and ourselves and some people are better at it than others. But I knew a chick in high school that I was mean to because I envied her persistent, authentic happiness. It drove me crazy. (Sorry Hydie)

For some people it’s being able to travel, for some it’s dancing in a club, for some it’s being a parent. For some people it looks like a deep connection to their faith. For some people it looks like having a lot of followers, or a lot of shit. Material things. For some people it’s having a lot of sex, or food, or drugs. For me, it’s a lot of love.

Someone once said that they believed I am the kind of person who will always be in love. I at first was kind of taken aback because I’ve always considered myself to be a fairly independent person, but I realized soon that they were right. I’m a romantic, and a depressive one at that. Love is the best thing I have ever felt. A real true connection with someone is so fucking rare and I have had it in my life and it is the most wonderful.  For me it’s completely consuming.

But you can’t chase love. You can’t just make it happen, it does not come easy, it will not give way to force or pressure. It either exists, or it does not.


Today’s Late Afternoon Collapse

I sent an email to my ex (the one who broke my heart at the picnic table) about a week after our relationship fell apart. He didn’t reply and I assumed that he probably wouldn’t – but I had things I needed to say to him regardless.

Ya’ll. I just opened my email and boom. There it was. Two minutes before I had logged on, his reply had landed in my inbox. It has been WEEKS.

I honestly feel like I’ve been kicked in the stomach and I’m trying really hard to remain calm because I don’t think I can fucking handle this right now, not even a little bit and now I am so scattered. Do I reply now? Do I wait? Do I reply at all? Should I finally just let this fucking go and let this amazing man move on to someone who can love him in the way that he needs? Do I drive to his house? Should I take a Klonopin?

10/10 currently losing my shit. In desperate need of a hug.


He sat at the picnic table and broke my heart.

Long empty days passed, my mouth unable to form the words that could possibly express my sorrow and regret so I poured too much liquor into it instead. Then I poured tears onto my pillow, the one that will never again be next to his.

I still have clothes from the trip in my trunk because I can’t even look at them. I can’t smell the campfire smoke that sunk into the threads, I can’t see the straps he pulled off my shoulders as we played in the river.

I don’t know if I will ever go camping again.