.:. you are beautiful .:.

I’m starting to freak out about pre-med.

I should have started earlier. I’m two years behind — but even if I finish in two years, I’m not going to have the research work / organizations / sorority to back me up.

Asdfjkl;.

But I’m learning the importance of order and relaxation.
It makes all the difference. Thank you.

I talked to a chauvinist once, before I knew anything other than his patriotism or lack thereof. He wanted secrets and I wanted them gone.

“I’m lost,” he said, and I thought it was mysterious. I’m lonely, she said, and it sounded strange. I couldn’t believe them because they were perfect — I wanted to be them — I wanted their charisma, I wanted their voice, I wanted their talent and their perfection. It’s funny how people don’t know how beautiful they are.

My professor said our internal essence has external manifestations. I can feel it. if I didn’t have you to lose I’d wear my skin. There would be no reason to hide my scars. Maybe after a while I wouldn’t need them. I would transform and emerge a phoenix; I’d throw on a scarlet bohemian skirt and walk around barefoot and feel life a current of life flow beneath my feet. I’d streak it over my wrists and palms for good measure and feel safe for the first time. I’d do something crazy with my hair and carry my instrument everywhere, fiddle horsehair and tree sap against raw strings whenever I passed someone inspiring. My song would be vibrant and I would have hope. I’d start talking again. My eyes wouldn’t mirror the earth before a storm. I would be free.

Filled for filthy empathy - recognize
that I see oceans in your eyes, they roar
in vain.

           Tides rush for futile signs; sin sighs.
Your lover’s opaque eye knows fate adores
Your desperate waves that crash and churn ‘gainst
Frigid shores

They only long to taste her salty skin
     to kiss svelte ocean lips
     to thrust against her frigid shores
     to rush away, to beg for more.

There are two people you’ll meet in your life. One will run a finger down the index of who you are and jump straight to the parts of you that peak their interest. The other will take his or her time reading through every one of your chapters and maybe fold corners of you that inspired them most. You will meet these two people; it is a given. It is the third that you’ll never see coming. That one person who not only finishes your sentences, but keeps the book. 

I remember you before I knew you.

I was afraid, you know, “damaged goods” without a heart. I only wanted perfection — not myself — I wanted the girl I saw in the mirror, except I didn’t want her at all. I wanted her with clearer skin and fuller lips and tighter cheeks and slimmer thighs and I wouldn’t let you see me.

I wouldn’t let you kiss me. I, the introvert, would ramble for mere minutes to delay the silences that would provoke kisses.

The silences and the kisses mean more now, but they rarely meet.

I led you to a roof, once, and we climbed atop and you confessed that you didn’t know any constellations and that you were afraid because you “weren’t very good at these kinds of things” before you leaned over and touched my lips with yours. This didn’t mean anything. I had drawn the attention of many heartless hormones in the past. But when you drew me into your arms, the warmth of your body melted the walls of ice inside my heart.

I had tried for years to destroy them myself, but you — you.

City lights turned my skin pale and perfect as your fingers traced words on my stomach. Do you know what I’m writing? you ask, I’ll write it again: and you trace a straight line, opposing swoops, and a smile.

I was still shy, damaged and disbelieving. I am still shy, damaged and disbelieving. But I am loved and this makes me something else entirely.

I never thought that you would change me. I never thought I would trust you or your words. You pull me with you to the mirror — look, you say quietly, just look at how beautiful you are — and when you whisper it like this and hold me closer, for a few seconds I see.

Time has no meaning.

My boyfriend has cancer.

This happened so quickly. I don’t understand.

The night before all of this I fell asleep earlier than he did. He had issues at work and had to go out again. I was halfway asleep when he got back, but pretended like I was sleeping anyway. He laid down next to me and ran his fingers through my hair. I rarely feel completely at peace, but this was one of those moments. Eventually we fell asleep.

Two hours later he was in so much pain he was crying, clutching his head and saying it felt like he’d been stabbed with a knife. It passed after about thirty minutes. I was ready to call someone to escort us to a hospital, I was so freaked out, but he didn’t think it was worth it. We eventually fell back asleep. 

That afternoon we visited the doctor, who transferred us to the emergency room, who transferred us to another ER in a different city. We’ve spent three days in the hospital and they’re still running tests on him.

I feel awful. I can’t believe this is happening; it happened so quickly. I love him. I can’t stand seeing him in pain. Now I’m miles away and there is nothing I can do for him. This is before radiation and chemo and surgery… this is only the beginning. I’m afraid.

    Turning and turning in the widening gyre
    The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
    Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
    Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
    The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
    The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
    The best lack all conviction, while the worst
    Are full of passionate intensity.

W.B. Yeats

He left her.