We Found A Park Bench That Fit Us Perfectly, With Our Initials Etched Into It. No Kidding. Seems Like

“Nemesis inhabited a dark paradise of her own making. She never held back. I loved her for her frightful hatred, her frightful love. I admired her stunning passion for revenge; the mercilessness in her eyes.”

— Lola Ridge, from To the Many; Collected Poems of Lola Ridge; “Hellish,”

7:59am. did I tell you he’s kept every single one of my love letters in his wallet?

you’re right across the bridge, laying in bed and my hands are shaking from holding back from you so I’ve turned to writing. this is the way I kiss you when you’re gone.

I write so much about love because I’ve lived a life of so devoid of it till now. how can I not write about you? this beautiful break of sunshine in my otherwise cloudy world. how can I not weave through the gardens of poetry trying to pick out the most beautiful bouquet of metaphors for you?

those green eyes in the summertime. clammy hands in the winter. bronze skin shining under the sun like you’re made of gold. tender breathing when you lie next to me. the way the breeze plays with your hair in spring. it seems like the universe loves you just as much as I do.

Forough Farrokhzad, from Another Birth: Selected Poems of F. F.; “In The Dark,”

he sighs and whispers that he loves me.

every single wave in the river stopped to watch me blush and crashed again when he leaned in to kiss me. rippled once his lips met mine.

the deep blue reflects onto the sky, the mirror of my soul. I’m ready to drown in this moment. drown in him. our love washes over our names written in the sand

how you move me like the moon moves the waves. how you leave me breathless, like I’ve swam too far from the surface, lost in the blue of your eyes. how the riverbed of my heart crumbles when you touch me.

I write so much about ugly past relationships but you, you were something entirely different. what role I did I play in our pathetic little love scene, honey? was I the main love interest, or just an extra in your miserable play?

all those bus rides at night, sharing earphones and listening to pop punk, my head on your shoulder whilst I ignored the missed calls from my parents. it was so naive, all of it. so empty. the fairytale with a thousand plot holes: the unavailable prince, midnight but still in tattered boots and ripped jeans, no fireworks, no true love’s kiss. just pain. just so much pain.

you were so shallow and insincere, talking about some girl whilst your hand was on my knee. kissing me in the back so your friends wouldn’t see, saying that she was boring and I was just, so different. I knew it was just a line, a lie, but god, was I willing to play the role of the girl who’d change you.

all those nights spent holding your hair back as you threw up vodka and pills. all those days spent lying in the sun as you came down, trying to convince you that life was worth living. all those aching, violent emotions and clenched fists. no softness. a love like sandpaper, a love like drowning, a love like violence.

tousling my hair and spinning like a ballerina, dizzy and worn out but used to the merry go round. a puppet to play with when you grew bored. your manic pixie dream girl, directing your love story. your manic pixie dream girl, teaching you how to live. your manic pixie dream girl, banished from your life as soon as you didn’t need her.

Lover, I know I’m such an excessive woman. I bleed so many emotions, each as destructive as the last. I breathe in love and exhale anxiety, infecting everything around me with paranoia and insecurity. I bleed scarlet angry and drink bluesy sadness, so much pain and turmoil, so much misplaced passion.

It must be so overwhelming to be mine, must be like loving a charred forest that doesn’t know how to trust the sun again, mistakes warmth for destruction. Lover, please leave if you find yourself crumbling under the weight of all that has broken me. I know I’m too much and that I’ve painted the inside of your heart in splatters of ugly colours, regurgitated trauma.

But you say no. You tell my ghosts that if they’re staying, then that they’d better make room. You hold me until I am strong enough to walk again, kiss me until all the loss tastes like strength. Tell me that the inside of your heart is a masterpiece now, all those colours look so pretty. You hold up a mirror to it and say look, how can all this look anything less but human.

A love so unconditional, so relentless in its support. How lucky I am, lover, to call you my own.

self destruction is an interesting thing!

“You once told me that the human eye is god’s loneliest creation. How so much of the world passes through the pupil and still it holds nothing. The eye, alone in its socket, doesn’t even know there’s another one, just like it, an inch away, just as hungry, as empty.”

— Ocean Vuong, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous: A Novel

“….” by Emily Byrnes