my birthday, two thousand and sixteen

january in new york was difficult. i was completely alone, and struggling to make ends meet. i lost my best friend and the suicidal thoughts were coming back. i desperately needed a change, and i would do anything to achieve it. i lied to my parents so i could go back to school early, because i couldn’t take being home any longer.

nobody was around to see my brokenness and nobody asked how i was. my sleeping schedule was obliterated- i was going to bed at four in the morning and waking up at two in the afternoon. i was living off of granola bars and popcorn, the only food in my dorm. i hardly drank any water and the chances of winning the lottery were greater than the chances of me taking a shower. 

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prompt: write something happy.

it’s about ten in the morning and i’m sitting under two trees by cayuga. it’s quiet and it’s warm, but the grass is cool. people come and go; all ready three different people have vacated a bench a few feet away from me in a prime location. the man who is here now has a pair of binoculars and gazes across the lake. i wonder if he is looking for anything in particular. he’s pulled out a book- he will stay awhile.

two blonde, curly haired children run barefoot up and down the dock. their giggles pierce the silence of the breezy lake’s atmosphere, but nobody seems to mind. these children and their onlooking mother are accepted as part of this calm environment, despite the chaos they bring. 

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sitting in the warm coffeeshop in collegetown, missing my baby. the rain pours outside the window and i sip my warm drink, remembering what her lips felt like against mine. it isn’t long before my drink is gone and my lips are cold again.

words spill out of me like the rain falling from the sky and i write and i write. i recall how it feels to know her loving in the mornings in the afternoon in the evening when we should be at a recording session instead. 

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My instinct tells me to crush my heel into the gravel and into the dirt and bolt for the grassy hills on the other side of this wide open field of wildflowers we are standing in. My instinct tells me to throw a strong net over my fickle heart and hold her from jumping into the rocky, foamy sea below the cliff we perch upon.

My instinct tells me to hang up the phone. My instinct tells me to stop listening to stop listening to stop listening to her sweet voice on the other end of the line. My instinct tells me it is time to run.

It is not your time, sweet baby. It will never be your time.

Wait for the ‘but I’m not in love with you,’ that you’ve heard so many times before.

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Errands with You

Her coffee hair is in pigtails at the nape of her neck and i want to put my hands behind her head and pull them out and i want to pull the sunglasses out of her hair and put them on her the bridge of her nose and push them behind her ears while she smiles at me and the sun radiates onto her toffee colored skin.


Her shirt is coral and makes the pink in her cheeks pop out at me which really only teases me and makes me want to slip my hands underneath even more but i cant do that because we are at a storage unit so you can pick up your key to store your shit over the summer in ithaca.


Now we are at a gas station in upstate new york and she buys me a coffee and herself a sticky bun and we are holding hands and we are so so happy and i am in love.