You’ll think of me.

While listening to Keith Urban’s you’ll think of me, I did.

Right now, just for a little, I’m going to let myself miss you.

baggage

We had 6 days together before he left.

I only found the scars later: in a pronounced belly button, under the curves of unusually heavy breasts, in skin stretched taut. It took me even longer to find the invisible scars in cracking memories and thoughts.

I can’t help thinking of him now as it’s my turn to go.

I want him to know: It’s your turn to be left behind. It’s your turn to sit and wait and hope and pray.

But we don’t talk anymore. I don’t think he knows I’m going.

I’ve had 9 months to prepare for my leave-taking. I wonder what I should read into this figure. A pregnant number. Perhaps it’s only now, that I’m a carrying to term of the heartache of his loss.

What kind of abnormal babe it will be, born at the moment I miscarry myself, my friends, my family. It will be shoved into a black Samsonite case, zipped up tightly into a vacuum-pack bag. It will be pulled along a cracked cement pavement. It will be chucked on, upside down, into a carousel, a cargo hold.

But when I arrive on the other side, perhaps I will be told that my baggage has been lost. And my sore shoulders, my tense hands, they will feel relief at not pulling along all the kilograms I should’ve left behind.

And I will weep.

coincidences

Of course. My farewell would be on his birthday. I’d completely forgotten till I saw the reminder on Facebook now. Of course.

can i only leave once you say farewell?

I don’t know if you’ll come to my farewell. I didn’t invite you. But you’ll find out – I made sure of it. In my head I run scenarios where you come; I also run scenarios where you don’t come.

I don’t know which hurts more.

forget me not

you can already feel the cool of a different climate enter my voice, chilling my usual friendliness. we don’t see each other as much as we used to, as though the rain has smudged your name in my diary; sometimes it becomes a foggy humidity trapping the clock in the beginnings of our friendship when we were just two people who walked past each other.

you ask me if i’m mad with you, if you’ve done something wrong. when i say no, you ask then why i’ve been avoiding you.

how do i tell you, i’m silent because of you. i’m preparing you for the days when i won’t be here to have tea with, when i won’t be here to laugh at your jokes, when i won’t be here to keep you company on long drives. i’m slowly erasing my name from your future, giving you time to find another me, another her. i’m leaving early, so that when i leave, i’ll already have been long gone.

i see you laughing with her, and i hope it’s working. forget me not tomorrow; forget me now.

Skinny love

you called me ‘slight’, and as the word fell through the air
it sliced away my muscles, fat, hips, breasts
till i stood, only bones,

insignificant before you

Come on skinny love, just last the year
Pour a little salt; we were never here
My, my, my, my, my, my, my, my
Staring at the sink of blood and crushed veneer

i eat now, obsessively, trying to fill myself up.

– bon iver’s skinny love

spam

i check my spam obsessively just in case my mail server threw your email away before i was able to delete it myself.

someone else’s stories

you get upset when i forget the little details of what you like, what you hate, what you eat, what you don’t. i buy you the wrong chocolates, fill in other people’s names in your stories, and forget to phone you on our important days.

i blame it all on a faulty memory.

what i don’t tell you is that my memory is not sieve-like, but instead overfull. it doesn’t keep losing your stories; it’s just holding someone else’s.

strength

i was the strongest person i knew. my heart was guarded by the knowledge that there was no-one else in the world stronger than me.

if you’d tried to wrestle the clasps open around my heart, you would’ve lost. if you’d used your wit to try pick the lock open, you would’ve eventually thrown away your tools.

it wasn’t strength i should’ve feared.

instead, it was your kindness, your gentleness that was my downfall. taken by surprise, i opened myself up to you voluntarily, generously. it was me, all me.

this is me screaming

thisismescreamingabouteverythingthatmakesmemad:
aboutpicturesofchildrenstarvinginsomalia
aboutrealchildrenstarvinginsomalia
aboutthejerkthatcutmeoffintraffictoday
aboutthetimeihadtowaitforacallcenteroperatorforawholetwohours
aboutthestupidmuzakthatplayedforthetwohours
aboutthemanwhokickedhisdogasiwalkedpasthimonthewaytotheshops
aboutglobalwarming
abouthavingtorestrictmywateruse
aboutnotbeingabletofindnailclipperswhenineedthem
aboutthewaymyparentsmanipulateme
aboutselfishteenagegirlswhobreakeachotherdowntomakethemselvesfeelbetter
aboutmybrokendvdplayer
aboutthegeyserthatshutsoffinthemiddleofmyshowers

butimmostmadaboutthefactthatimmadaboutallthesethings
andyourenotheretotellmeitsgoingtobeokay