April 8th 

allysonraewrites:

Skeletons

Buried deep beneath my bed
among empty water bottles
and lonely, long-forgotten socks
lies a skeleton, in the
form of a battered shoe box,
once meant to hold a pair of
size nine cowboy boots, but
instead holds the remnants of a heart.
My skeleton is filled to the brim
with piles of pictures and papers—
memories of a time when things were
simple, and love was easy.

Love letters written in nothing but
lyrics from long-dead musical poets,
and dried-up rose petals, once a brilliant
red now the color of a bloodstain—His
t-shirt folded beneath that faded photograph
of his smile against my lips still faintly
smells of his cologne—the Ed Hardy he tended
to wear too much of, and tucked between the
stuffed dog with a heart-shaped spot over his
left eye from that fated Valentine’s day, and
an unopened can of Wild Cherry Pepsi—Lord
knows why that is in there—is the crystal
butterfly, perched atop the fragile stem
of that pink rose he bought me after I told
him not to. One wing is missing it’s pointed
tip from the night I had too much to drink
and decided strolling down memory lane
was the best way to spend a Friday night,
and I was a little too hasty in repacking the
box of him through my tears. I still remember
the snap of crystal coming apart in my hands
and biting back a sob as I realized that was
the same sound my heart made when he
whispered “it’s over,” across the phone line.

Is this what love is? Just a box filled
with momentos adding up to a life
once shared and now separated? Just
the brittle bones of a skeleton that
used to be a love? Is it the way my
heart leaps into my throat each time
I lift the lid and catch a whiff of that
once-familiar cologne and a glimpse
of his eyes, shining up at me from that
photograph that used to sit beside my bed
but now sits collecting dust beneath it?
Or is it knowing that despite burying the
material memories of the I spent with his
hands against my skin, and despite the
war we waged on one another, when the
dust settled, I was still standing there,
loving him even as he walked away?

I feel like this needs some editing—a lot of editing. But this is what came out when I sat down, so…

Day 99. I’m 46 followers from my goal of 100 followers by 100 posts. Help?

March 10th 

allysonraewrites:

I have this annoying ache in my chest. It tugs at my heart, and it burns between the cracks you left there when you walked away. I’ve been trying to put my finger on it; I’ve been trying to decipher what this feeling is. It isn’t love; I know what my love for you feels like, and it never felt like it was burning me alive. It isn’t anger either. My anger toward you felt like a small tiger clawing at my chest, but he wandered away months and months ago. It isn’t the sadness that settled in the pit of my stomach and weighed me down like an anchor, either. Then one day, it hit me: hope. It was hope.  but hope for what? Hope that you’d come back? Hope that you’d do something uncharacteristically romantic like show up on my front steps with a dozen roses and say you’re sorry? Hope that you’d tell me what a big mistake you made and how much you miss me and that you just want another shot? I don’t know. But whatever it is I’m hoping for, it’s really stupid to hope for that because I know it’s not going to happen. It just isn’t. If it was going to—if this was a movie—it would have already happened. But still, I’m hoping. And I don’t think I’ll ever truly stop hoping. 

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Creeping on my Ex's Facebook: Valentine's Day edition 

• Ex#3: well got everything taken care of for single awareness day...flowers to be delivered to myself, and the dinner for 2 with myself...its going to be epic
•  *to myself* WHERE THE FUCK WAS ALL THIS LAST YEAR WHEN I WAS YOUR VALENTINE AND ALL I GOT WAS A TEXT MESAGE AND YOU DITCHED ME TO DO GOD KNOWS WHAT WITH GOD KNOWS WHO WHILE I SAT HOME ALONE?!?!?!
• Me: ha. my daddy was my valentine. He totally bought me candy and ice cream. and then i skipped class and had a date with specially selected episodes of Castle and my cat. Best Valentines Day of my life.
•  You are so stupid. stop feeling sorry for yourself, because you could have had me but you didn't bother. it's your own fault, and now I get the last laugh.