This relationship is different.
For as childish as we are, it just feels so grown up.
Like this is how it would be if we had our own place.
He'd lay on the couch reading, I'd sit on the floor drawing.

When I relayed this thought, he kissed me, agreed, and told me
that it was because he could be himself around me.

That's exactly what it is.
Even though I want to impress him, I don't feel like I have to.
And that's a first.
He has flaws, and I don't want to change them.
And that's a first.
We don't have to constantly be together.
We don't have to sit next to each other everyday of our lives.
We don't have to hold hands.
We go dutch sometimes because I know that that's a burden in a relationship.

I always wanted to be like Peter Pan and never grow up, but
now that I'm out of Neverland, I like this world too.
More, even.

And that's a first.

We haven't learned yet that each romance has a last day.

I had a dream that I was making a skirt out of gold lace.
I was so ready to cut it, to finally make it mine.
I went to grab my scissors, and my fabric was gone.
I asked around everywhere, asking everyone I saw if they had seen my gold lace.
No one knew where it went.
I had to settle for pink fringe in the end.

I just wanted the gold lace, damn it.
Don't make me take the pink fringe.

Maybe everything will be better now that our inevitable "trouble month" is over.
Or maybe it won't.

Never planned that one day I'd be losing you.

Sometimes I think about my wedding day.
You're the groom.
You're crying as I walk down the aisle.
We're in Chicago, in a park where I made a Freudian slip
that defined us for so long.
I always wonder if your tears are of joy or sorrow.

Sometimes I think about my wedding day.
I'm the bride.
You're crying as I walk down the aisle.
We're in New York, a place of both of our dreams
and limited opportunity.
I always wonder if you notice that the groom was crying too.

FUCK.

If he’s not calling you.
If he’s not texting you.
If he’s looking for other girls to date.
If he’s not taking you out on dates.
If he’s not asking you to be is girlfriend.

Then it’s because he doesn’t want to.

Even if he’s kissing you.
Even if he’s letting you sleep in his bed with him.
Even if he’s cuddling you at night.
Even if he gets jealous when you talk about other guys.

If he wanted to be with you, then he would be. But he’s not.

And he’s a fool.



"Fools aren't born, Pongo. Pretty girls make them in their spare time."

Tricked ya.

The scars of your kisses
cover me
haunting me with memories
of the beautiful boy who
once laid beside me
once, twice, again
maybe January, maybe
2012.
Maybe in the garden where
we chased the rabbit but
landed back in the real
world instead of Wonderland.
I am mind numbingly beautiful.
You are nothing short of my
soulmate, but too immature
and scared to see it.
So you'll fall back down the
rabbit hole & I'll stay here.
I'm New York - busy, tired & grand.
You're Chicago - sprawling, physical
& fashion.
We both live in our own metropolis
and both claim to have the best pizza.

I’m so fucking pretentious.
carrying around my Whole Foods groceries and $200 purse.
Wearing my shirt from a Broadway show and holding my $1000 laptop.
I’m only shaken by the fact that there’s spray paint on my nails and shoes that cost as much as my haircut.
And the fact that the ambulance that drove by could have been the same one that brought me to the hospital when those guys busted my face in.
Why the hell does anyone deal with me?