The Green Power Ranger Watch

In the end, I think that he was just different from me. Although he was so good on paper - he wrote, he liked literature, he sang, he played guitar, he liked Legos, he was child-like but could be frisky, he wanted to go into law - he wasn’t right for me.  

I bought him a watch from a thrift store a while back. It was the green Power Ranger, the one that was his favorite. When I went to get the battery put in, the watch guy and I were pleasantly surprised - it worked still! It cost me a total of six bucks to get the watch and the new battery, no big deal. We’d ended things, but I wanted still to talk, put things behind us, and try to be friends. I wanted to give it to him if things between us patched up, so I left the watch out on my dresser. 

On Tuesday I reached out to him so that we could figure things out. He ignored me. When I got back home and still hadn’t heard back from him, in my frustration I picked up the watch. I read it and laughed out loud. The time was off. It was too slow. It was running, but it wasn’t running correctly.

That’s how I’ve come to see my relationship with him. It worked, but it didn’t work right. I would have had to adjust a lot, I know that much at the very least, and that would have been wrong for me. I deserve someone who will work with me and who will care about me just as I am, not as how I am sometimes, or how they think that I am, or what they’re comfortable perceiving me as. 

He never tried for more, not in our brief relationship, not even in getting to know me. We had that first night, that first sushi date of talking, and it seemed like after that he thought that he had me all figured out. He didn’t actively seek out to discover who I am as a person, and since I know that I am quite complex I appreciate someone who takes the time and makes the effort to find me out. I am worth finding out, goddammit. I am more than what you think I am. I am more than “fun,” I am more than “pretty,” I am more than any of the silly, one-dimensional adjectives you kept placing upon me, mister.

I know now that that isn’t right for me. I second guess myself still though, and I even second guess the decision to not reply to him when he finally texted me back on Friday. His text was dismissive. A part of me wanted to blast him. A part of me wanted to try, in vain, to correct him (would he ever have believed my side? Is he capable of seeing things in my way, ever?). A part of me wanted to be done with it, and not allow this thing with him to continue to poison my life. Because really that’s what it was doing - it was poisoning my life. It’s poisonous to try to force something into your life that is not meant for you.

So here I am again, alone and lonely, but it’s okay, I’m okay, it’s okay. I think I am making real progress with my life, and that feels really, really good. It’s hard right now, it’s fucking hard as shit right now, but it feels good to know that it’s all for something. I am making moves. I am continually challenging myself. I am growing. I am learning.


It’s one in the morning. All the tender, soft thoughts come out right about now. & all the loud, demanding feelings rush on out, too. The thoughts and the feelings crash and smash together and I’m a mishmash of everything and nothing. It’s noisy. It’s rowdy. It’s scary.

It’s really nothing extraordinary or radical. It’s just heartbreak. Plain and simple. People have been struggling through this phenomenon for years. I myself have undergone it numerous times before.

& yet every heartbreak is different. This one is heavy. Sad. Intensely, gut-wrenchingly sad. It lays with me at night, shakes me awake in the mornings promptly at 9am. I’m becoming accustomed to it, adjusting myself to it, and it makes it hard for my smiles to reach my eyes. Food, all food, tastes bland, and sleep evades me. I keep a tissue box on the floor by my bed, just in case. Just in case. Some mornings the floor is a wadded-up-tissue graveyard. I hasten to throw away the proof, but my trash can is overflowing.

Minutes feel like years and days feel like centuries. It’s been five hundred forevers without you now, but I suppose it has to get worse before it gets better—-


I guess all I can say is that I love you, of course I love you, and I hope that you had a great day. I’m thinking of you. I’m always thinking of you.



Valentine’s Day and President’s Day both suck, so let’s just combine the two and call it a day.

(via obama2016)


Today I feel free.


& if you love me you will let me go

Imagine I’ve kissed your eyelids, your cheek. I’ve scratched your scalp very tenderly, very lightly, the way you like it, the way that relaxes you all at once. Imagine my eyes squeezed shut. Slow breathing. We share no words. There is nothing left to say. There is nothing that can change things, that can fix this. Just imagine my head buried in your chest & the enveloping silence. I must regain my life. I must recapture myself. In the end, my god, I love you, but there is not enough space here for me to adequately love us both.

"What makes lovemaking and reading resemble each other most is that within both of them times and spaces open, different from measurable time and space."

—  Italo Calvino (via mycolorbook)

(via jehhseka)


I went on a date last night and then you texted and asked, again, whether I would come there. Start our days with coffee, end with you making dinner. Forever. I feel myself tug towards yes and then I remember why it will always be no with you and I.

There are people in your life who are going to love you for all of the wrong reasons. They will love you for the best part of your face, the best part of you naked, the best mood on your best day, the best story you ever wrote, the best outfit you ever wore.

They are going to miss the scar on the underside of your nose from the time your older brothers dared you to run across a pile of logs. They won’t know that you fell on a hidden nail just as you completed the challenge. They’ll miss the scar on your finger, too from the time you were seven and closed a swiss army knife on it. They won’t understand that these are two of only a handful of things you can remember about your childhood. They’ll notice that you have great tits, but they’ll miss that your thumb tucks into their palm when you’re walking together and that your eyes have darker circles when a migraine is coming. They won’t know you get migraines. They won’t ask where the story you wrote came from, so they’ll never know that it was true. They’ll love it because it feels real to them. They’ll miss knowing the sweatshirt full of holes that they criticized you for wearing was your dads. You might tell them some of these things along the way, but they will remember the best things instead.

They will love your good moods, your energy, your sense of humor, but miss that you never turn to them, but rather to a shower or a pillow or the back of your throat to shed tears. They won’t ever consider you strong.

When the parts that aren’t your best come out, some people will shield their eyes as if you have just forced them to look directly into the sun for hours until their irises burn. They’ll silently make you promise to never show them that again. Those things are not to be shown. Be at your best so I can love you. I would love you more if only you never show me those things.

And you do not marry those people. You do not sit and sleepily drink coffee with those people. You leave those people and you remind yourself that they missed the better parts of you.

(Source: waxenneat, via jehhseka)

"It is stupid, you love him, people fall in love with people bad for them everyday, people eat food that’s bad for them everyday, people do drugs that are bad for them everyday, I do, and everyday people make and take the power and decide to NOT give into these things."

— wise words from my best friend


what do you need?

i need to love myself more
i deserve everything i need.
and i shouldn’t settle for less.
that’s not just me
that’s everyone.

but i have put myself in a situation
where i am not getting what i need
and so things are not lining up
and so i need to get out of it
however painful that may be.
things always change.
they’re supposed to.

i need someone who will actively love me
someone who will give as much as i give
which is a lot. i give a lot.
someone who will run with me.
who won’t let fear stop him.


Everyone who terrifies you is sixty-five percent water.
And everyone you love is made of stardust, and I know sometimes
you cannot even breathe deeply, and
the night sky is no home, and
you have cried yourself to sleep enough times
that you are down to your last two percent, but

nothing is infinite,
not even loss.

You are made of the sea and the stars, and one day
you are going to find yourself again.  

(Source: finnualabutler, via scorpionideal)