imprint

i see you in everything—the sun slanting into the back seat of my car, the way a stranger’s neck flows into their left shoulder at exactly the same curvature as yours, the cupid’s bow of your upper lip in every onscreen actor i root for. it’s obsession.

but what can’t i let go of? the way you took a phone call about another girl in front of me? surely not the way you spent an entire dinner talking about your ex? or the way you called me needy when i asked for the bare minimum?

the bad stuff hurt, but the worst part is that my brain has to work so hard to remember it. because when i think of you, i think of your quick smile, the soft stroke of your hand on my face, the look in your eyes when we... how can a human body be so stupid as to latch onto the first thing that touches it? sentiment is a prison.


sometimes there is no closure. flush the drug, drink your water, and hope one day the sun in the back of your car will just be the sun again.

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each time i find myself creating new love is another time that i learn i never really lost it. it exists in me forever, pushing the boundaries of my heart until i am heavy and empty at the same time.

i deserve the love i want. i deserve clarity and certainty. the next time i fall in love, i won’t need to convince myself of it. it will just be the plain truth. i won’t need to write roundabout prose

no one’s perfect but you are very good