part of my healing process whether it need be for stress, emotional discomfort, anxiety, grief, self doubt, etc- has been writing (in diary form at first, around 15) poetry. it has become a spiritual experience for me to put my hand on a pen and write to myself, for myself, exactly what I've needed to hear/admit/accept. writing has helped me get through death of loved ones, heartbreak, friend loss, self love loss, and above all- when you finally feel on top of your world, your game, your writing reflects that of course. but your physical being reflects that positivity as well. i vow to write more soon. this is a flow i wrote a couple of weeks ago. props if you read this whole ramble 🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋
“Sticky notes are a waste of paper,” you’d said. “And glue,” I’d added. I don’t remember how the conversation got there. But it was our first night after we'd moved in together. It was weird and awkward. You shoved your knee into my stomach all night. And snored louder than my father used to. Even farted softly, but mine was smellier.
For the first time in 5 years, we slept together in the same timezone. But we missed the distance. We were used to having it in between us. Now it was just a pillow. And it made sure our faces stayed close. That night I wondered if it was just me that felt moving in after meeting once, was a bad idea.
Next morning, I knew you felt the same. “We’re going to need time to get used to this. To honestly say how we really feel,” you'd said during breakfast. I nodded. “Let’s leave them in places then, the words we’re too scared to say?” I nodded again then kissed you.
Sticky notes were a no-no. So we settled for things around us. We had to. ‘Love needs time and patience’ I’d read in some stupid online blog. This was us making sure we didn’t run out of both.
So we ate together, played Monopoly, and slept on each other’s arm till it numbed. But we had stubborn spines that wouldn't bend, which meant us finding a way so they would.
And so I remember how we argued when you thought I was cheating. Then made alphabet soup next day for lunch. You’d arranged the letters to say what your tongue couldn’t - Sorry.
And that one time I came home to find you nowhere around. Just four words written in the dust on the cupboard - Need some time alone.
You returned after two days. I didn’t ask you where you’d been, just wrote my four words on the misty bathroom mirror after we showered together - I still love you.
But it wasn’t enough. Things got worse. We fought again. You walked away, again. I searched the house for any words you'd left behind. I couldn’t find any.
I was sure you'd come back. I was running out of things to write on so I ran to the shop and bought some pink fairy lights. I waited but you never returned. It's been years but what I made out of them still hangs in our room. I wish I'd said it sooner. One simple word it was - Stay.