Real Talk

A Letter or Two

Dear Self: I thought you said
you knew better.
i’ve decided to write you for the purpose
of mending the bones I broke
in attempt to make you stronger.
it's my job to look out for you;
so I guess we should get to know each other.

p.s. - you’re doing well.

and your hair looks healthy
and your smile looks genuine.

Dear you: I hope with all my heart
that you can remove the hatchets
buried into your ego,
and throw them into an ocean
with a depth
as questionable as your
sanity.

I love you every day,
but each time you choose
liquor and nights away from us
over the conversations we keep
trying to have,

you become less and less easy
to forgive.

Dear old friend: you never did understand
the way I could not stop saying ‘i love you’
every time I saw you.
you'd say the words lose their meaning
if you say them too often;

but what if i meant it,
every single time?

what if each time i meant it
more and more
than the time before;
what if saying it often
was the only thing reminding me
that it was true.

Oh god, I hope it's true

sincerely,
Emma

Bad Bad Love

i dreamt
of words on lips
lips on skin
skin on selves
and happiness in breath.

when i woke
i forgot to remind myself
that it was a dream
and began living each day
as if i were loved.

I Remember

I remember all too clearly skipping down the streets of Paris.

I was so obviously loud, and so obviously American..  I remember a group of locals taking pictures of me from across the street,

and after that, I kept my voice down.

I remember that rainy night, walking with linked arms,

and laughing at the little things.  

Laughing at all our worries, because they we're 5,000 miles West of us.

The lights reflecting on the wet cobblestone were almost as beautiful as the men passing by us.

We'd make audible comments about them, because we knew they couldn't understand anyways.

And I remember more than anything, how well I slept in Paris. 

You suggested it was the jet lag, but I think I believe it was something different entirely. 

There was something ethereal about sleeping with the windows open

I guess it was a mixture of the falling rain, and the party across the way

Warm light came in through the open window, almost as warm as the faint laughter 

and music.

I drifted off to it every night, and haven't slept the same since Paris

Sometimes i feel like I haven't slept at all since Paris. 

(me, Paris)

What's New

Don’t expect things.

Don’t expect your fingers to be able to detect the dull heartbeat and don’t expect your hands to color her gray and brittle skin.

Don’t expect human decency, because just as you expect your coffee to jolt awake your senses, it will instead just burn your tongue.

Instructions: How to Murder Somebody

According to google,

the fastest, most efficient way is to kill a person is to break their neck

according to my grandpa,

it's to grab a rifle and aim for the left quadrant of their chest

But i'm most certain of a way that will surely knock them out.

It won't be fast, it will be slow, and long, and agonizing

But it's very simple, so listen closely:

Tell them you love them,

 and never talk to them again.

Dialogue

"And then it hits me: You are smiling, you are laughing, you are happy. But it's not because of me."

"See you tomorrow?"

"No."

Perspective

“Do not fall in love with people like me

we will take you to
museums and parks
and monuments
and kiss you in every beautiful
place so that you can
never go back to them
without tasting us
like blood in your mouth”

BLACKOUT

Definite Daydream