Love, Jessica

Everyone has their limits, Their
Promises hang like tiny threats, You
Will them to break, You want them
To break, You crack them like egg shells
On the edge of the countertop.

But who decided that you would be sad
For this long? Who turned you into doubt instead
Of faith? You’re lots of dark people, instead
Of just one. I don’t think
I can love all of you.

And not all of you can
Love me back. I let your army in and
They ran through me, with weapons, and
Cut me right open. I didn’t understand
How small they were, then. But now it’s clear that
You’re all very, very tiny. 

Something snapped, a branch or a string
Snapped, skin to skin, clap your hands
Together, you love me, you love me

It’s been a minute, two, three, I’ll run
My fingers through your hair, across that field
It’s open, the door is wide open, but
I think I’ll just stare through the glass

And think of your face, the stray hairs of your eyebrows,
Dark freckles, your lips, you said
That you’ve been in love before, I haven’t
Heard you loud enough

Is it good to be alone, is my heart
Broken enough for you? No, I’ll shake
Your hand, it’s rough to never understand
The infinities I traced across your spine

I’d never, never call you, mine is that
Plus another, four in the morning and
You still push me away, but I
Love you, I love you

I love you, I think too
Much, but I never learn a thing
Stop doing that, it’s fine tonight
I’ll stare at ceilings and find pictures in the plaster

You never feel any older on your birthday. Never any different, which to me proves that age really is just a number. It’s gradual, of course, but each step is really more of a slide. There are never any leaps in life. It’s all a story with events that come before and create moments to remember afterwards.

Today, or tonight, I suppose, I’m still as detrimentally confused as ever. There’s Peter and there’s Andrew, and they both love me in their own ways. And I love them, too, even if I won’t say it. Why won’t I say it? I don’t know if it’s real if I love someone in a moment, and then once that’s gone, and I go home and eat a sandwich and forget about loving them, and then I can’t remember the feeling. Does that still count? I loved you, Alex, all the time. I was hardly ever with you, and I loved you the most. But was that just me lifting you up like that? I want someone to tell me. I’ve got so many questions.

But what should you expect from me? I’m just 18 after all. I’ve got so much time to figure myself out. But for now, I’ll rest on the notion that love, for me, is awful and quite nearly impossible, and that if I find myself falling in love like I did, I will need to be more careful. But who am I kidding? I have no capability of being careful with things as fragile as my heart. I like to feel good, even if I know that I’ll get ripped in half for it later. There’s always that small chance that I won’t. Those little promises that I cling to. And I’m baking on finding that person who keeps those promises and who fits.

I’m overwhelmed by how awful I am when I’m illuminated. My hands are only so big, and I can only bleed so much on your floor before you notice. My endeavor is to feel and to have moments worth keeping. But I’m reckless and I’m hurting the nicest boy I’ll ever meet. I lied to him and he loves me. He doesn’t make me feel invincible, and that means that he is wrong. But maybe I do that for him; I think he should keep that of me to himself. I don’t want to spoil it. I don’t want him to cry or hurt or hate me. So I do, I lie.

Every star was lined up for me
Where I saw it, from the ground
A little to the left, what happened
To our afternoons? I liked the freedom
Of believing in fairytales, I liked
The taste of wine and the perfect circles
That I drew across your back

Now, I’ve realigned my stars, I think
I’ve broken everyone I’ve met, after dark,
Just a little, I hope they never find me
Underneath this makeup, behind glass
I’m something to see, I’m on the ground
Loving everyone I see, on the ground
Making love to every stranger that I meet
Because what’s the point of having
Friends if they’re not in love with you?
I can safely assume that I’m good at what I do

You will have this, won’t you? She’s dressed up in peach, with curls and lipstick. She’s right there, and she looks like a doll. Here’s the letter that she wrote:

Dear,

Do you remember the night we watched Eternal Sunshine in your bedroom? Our legs were tangled, and your chest was pressed against my back, and we held hands, and you brushed my hair with your fingers. Then I rolled over to face you, and you kissed me on the mouth and told me to pay attention. 

I remember because that was the night I realized that I loved you.

I know it’s unforgiving, hearts and love and things. I know that love is war and I’ve seen the movies and read the books and magazines that tell girls like me what to be like and how to give and take what we deserve. Unfortunately, nothing so far has mentioned your kind.

You swallowed me, really. I wanted to crawl inside your skin, and live there, close to you. I wanted you to love me back so badly. I missed you all the time. A part of me hated you for it.

I was doomed from the start, and at the end, I crumbled, folded, dissolved right into the floor. I cried a lot, and I hated you, but I loved you even more. I don’t think you understand how I was. I think you’d be ashamed if you knew.

I’m telling you this because I need you to know that we can’t be real friends. We can be pretend ones, that talk about school and the weather, but I can’t share myself with you, out of self-defense or pride, maybe. And you can’t share with me because it hurts, and I’ll resent you for it. You don’t know this, though, and that’s why I’m telling you. So I don’t resent you, and to save myself.

I hope that you find yours. But since it isn’t me, and since it could have been, in my mind at least, I don’t think I’m ready to embrace it. I love you, still, and that’s why. I still wish you loved me, too. See, we can’t be anything because you mean too much to me, even though you don’t deserve to, and even though I know better.

As usual,

Love

You see it there, in its beige and faded envelope. With the words “What I Left Unsaid” looped blackly across the seal. She came herself to deliver it. And there she is, at the foot of your drive, just looking at you. How couldn’t you have know who she was? 

Hold your hemline high because,
Your ankles match your hands
I’ll be with you in the morning,
Sleeping late because I can

They say that I was made for this
They say the weather’s fine
I told you to be beautiful
And I told you to be kind

I think that seven is too early
And this dark, it’s still too light
What’s the point of looking when
They cover both your eyes?

They say that if I wear this dress
Then I’ll find you in the shade
Snap your fingers when you want me
I know the way the game is played

But it’s still early in the morning
Now you’re leaning on the brink
And I’m slowly getting pretty
From the alcohol you drink

Just don’t look them in their faces
Just let them make their rules
They’ve got so much to take from you
And you’ve got so much to lose

You’ll still wake up in the morning
With your hemline high
And your hair stuck to your lipstick
And your arm against his thigh 

At midnight, when I’m alone, when it’s frozen, when everything beyond me seems frozen in time, I feel the most like myself, then. I’m never really happy; I’m always troubled by humanity, the way we take. I would give the world to somebody who knows this part of me. But everyone so far that could have, they didn’t want to. And it’s not the fall that troubles me; it’s the way we fall that does.