[note: this is just a colection of rambling. a piecing together of situations that were scribbled into notebooks and etched into my memory with a cloudy ink that tastes like bourbon and smells like cigarettes. I'll forever edit this one just to add creative writings.]

I. Rogue Wave.

She really looked at me like she meant it. “You’re all I’ve got and I love you for it.” Sitting indian style on her throne of Bud light bottles. Bottle cap ashtrays strewn at her tattoo’d feet, tears making her caked black mascara run. “Can I hug you?” I ask sheepishly understanding that she doesn’t like contact when she’s been drinking. She butterfly’s open and cocoons me in her cherub arms. I can smell the Djarims and her fading perfume as she chokes on tears for what feels like 3 days. “I have to go for a drive.” she says. my eyes open and follow the flicker of several candles lighting the home I squat in.

“You cant drive, you’re drunk?”

“It’s ok, anytime I get pulled over they just call my dad and let me go.”

“I cant go with you this time.”

“why cant you? Come with me? Have you already stopped loving me like everyone else?!”

“No, I have work in a few hours and you’re drunk and I’m over 21… I cant be held responsible. I cant afford it”

“Fuck you… I’m out of here.”

Those were a few of the last words she would grumble to me concerning the situation. I still got text messages about the cuts on her legs and how much she missed me. but things were never the same and still aren’t. It’s funny though how much you honestly dislike someone but how much you cannot ever.EVER. get that person out of your thoughts permanently. Smell a Clove across the bar. Drink a Bud light even though you hate the taste. Some things just bring it all rushing back to you like  a rogue wave crashing against your chest.

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II. Never again

“I don’t think I’ll ever love again…”

she said with tears in her eyes and a lit cigarette in her hand. “I dont ever want to put myself in the position to be hurt the way you hurt me…ever.”

I’m choking back tears because a part of me really does love her… just not in the way she needs to be loved, the way she wants to be loved.

Fast forward through the bullshit. fast forward through the cordial hellos at the galery and the waves in the hallway and at resturaunts. Fast forward to the days when she’ll look at me from a short distance and feel nothing. Her synapses will fire a thousand navy Colts filled with memories from when we were together. Some good and some bad, she’ll regard me as she would a former possesion. She’ll see me as a stuffed animal or a doll from childhood. She’ll hug me and the synapses will fire and there wont be anything but memories. She’ll have realized a long time ago that, like her doll, she loved me once but no longer needs me and No longer needs the crutch I granted.

This is the point when my broken and worn synapses fire on my memories of her and the growth she gave me. She made me who I am today atom by atom. Feeling by feeling. From seed to germination and now I’ve flowered into something… and next year my fruit will be different. I’ll choke back tears from realizing everything she did for me. All the different ways I was a better person when she was around and all the ways I slipped after she left. All the bottles I emptied and all the hearts I broke, or perhaps all the cracks I gained in giving myself to someone new in a different way than I used to.

You may only give yourself away so many times before you have nothing to give but empty hands and a hoping smile.

I hope I still have something to give.

I know she does.

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