want a quiet love. i love loud and piercing, in permanent ink and

maxed-out volume. i leave marks. i am not the girl if you want a

temporary love. i am root and stone. dug into the earth. planted. i

will stay by you even as i rot and crumble. it is perhaps my greatest

strength and my most painful flaw. but still, i remain. and i am

yours for the taking, love. but only if you know what it is you’re

getting into. only if you understand that should you love me, it is

not a choice you can so easily take back.

I BELIEVE IN LOVING LOUDLY / IN HUGGING YOU

OBNOXIOUSLY IN PUBLIC / IN KISSING YOU GOODBYE

IN FRONT OF YOUR PARENTS / IN KISSING YOU IN

FRONT OF YOUR PARENTS JUST BECAUSE I FEEL

LIKE IT / IN SITTING ON YOUR LAP AT PARTIES / IN

SLOPPINESS / IN UNAPOLOGETIC AFFECTION / IN

MASSIVE DECLARATIONS / I BELIEVE IN LOVING LOUDLY

/ WITHOUT SHAME / WHAT GOOD IS IT ANYWAY / IF IT

ISN’T SOMETHING YOU CAN YELL ABOUT

adaptation

losing you felt like

a forest being thrown

into drought,

like i had been cut off

from everything i needed

to survive.

it was like when the air

is so hot and dry

and you swallow but can’t seem

to fill your lungs.

i was suffocating

on your absence.

i felt myself wilt

and wither and crack,

a hardening that took

the longest time to finish.

for so long i was afraid

to breathe deeply.

i did not think

there would be anything

there waiting for me.

but over time i grew

from forest to scorched earth,

from lush and green

to hard and sand.

i was beautiful

in a new, different way.

eventually,

i stopped longing

for my canopies

and started loving

my deserts.

now, the air is no longer

thick with your rain.

instead,

it is hot with my sun.

this is what i’m waiting for:

one day,

i am going to see you again.

and for the first time,

it isn’t going to matter.

i am slowly

rebuilding myself

into the person i was before:

somebody bright,

somebody happy,

and,

most importantly,

somebody who doesn’t

need

you.

sleep paralysis

one time, i loved a boy who seemed to write me into existence. i

don’t mean that i wasn’t anything before him—i was. but i think i

was small. i think i didn’t know somebody could look at me like

that, and after i figured it out i didn’t think anybody else would

look at me like that again. that was almost ten years ago. the

person i was then feels so far away now but at the same time if i

reached out i could brush her cheek with my fingertips. if i could,

i would tell her, you sweet, foolish girl, you have no idea what’s

coming. one day you won’t even remember the sound of his voice,