Читать книгу i am the love letter - lillian grace - Страница 11

The first time I saw that you’d made me a playlist

Based off of my twitter handle,

I felt the tears come.

When you changed the name from +trying to +loving

When we started dating,

I felt the tears come.

The last time I opened up my spotify

You’d hit the backspace on that piece of your life.

“When in love” was the new name.

“When in love” was the gift you gave me.

I felt the tears come.

In complete honesty,

Rancho at night does not seem to match up to the halls I walk during the day.

For then, I can pretend the starry sky

And the cold air and the warm hands and the blanket I brought for you do not exist.

During the day, I can pretend that the pyramid is as ancient as it’s sisters.

I can pretend that I read you my poetry on the other side of the world.

I can pretend that maybe that poetry wasn’t mine.

It wasn’t mine.

I want to erase it,

But erasers never really clear the words off of the paper completely.

I wish they could,

Maybe I could write a new poem in its place,

But, you see, I only write in black pen.

I stood up in front of a crowd of strangers to declare my love for you.

I felt the eyes boring into me as I walked up to the mic and acted,

As I read a poem that took weeks.

I am an actress.

I did it all for you.

That was the most wretched way I have ever used both of my art forms at once,

And when you told me the man next to you said my piece was too much,

I brushed it off as you did.

I didn’t write for a month.

Because the confidence to walk up to that mic in the first place

Had already put me in debt with myself,

The confidence to sit back down as two people out of thirty applauded for me took even more.

It took two and a half weeks across the country

And performing the revised poem in New York City to a crowd who gave a standing ovation

To pay that back.

We stopped writing poetry to eachother after a while.

In complete honesty, I was glad.

It always felt like you wanted more from me,

And I gave it.

I gave until I was heaving words,

Pouring them out of lips I didn’t love anymore.

My poems to you were forced and unpolished,

A window into my clouded mind.

No revisions.

No rewrites.

Raw,

Every single one of them.

Speaking them to you felt like I was handing you something not quite finished.

My hands shook when you kissed me through an entire movie.

I paid for your ticket.

I’m sure you didn’t even notice.

One of my favorite songs is from that movie, y’know?

Never once do I think of you when listening to it.

I just think of how we sat in the front row and I hate the front row,

Especially with action movies.

Loud noises make me jump,

But you don’t need to know that.

All you needed to know was how many times your lips could make their way

Into mine before someone yelled at us.

Nobody did.

My lips felt raw afterwards.

I used them to lie to my mother and tell her that you were just my friend.

My couch is a ghost town,

And, as soon as I wrote that line, I felt my mind let go of myself.

Because I held your hand for two hours on the part of the couch where I do my homework.

I kissed you for the first time on the armrest.

I kissed someone for the first time on the armrest.

I fell asleep in your lap on the cushions.

Some days, I wish you were still there for me to rest my head on,

And, now, it’s a headstone

Of a graveyard made of playlists and poetry.

I felt guilty for wanting to fall asleep while kissing you.

You were the judge, and it was so clear I had broken our oath.

I wouldn’t fall asleep.

You didn’t want me to.

You wanted to kiss me while looking out the sliding glass door of my bedroom.

You didn’t want to pick a hulu movie, you just wanted to kiss me.

You didn’t want me to tell you about my art wall, you wanted to kiss me.

You didn’t eat the food my stepmother handed you, you wanted to kiss me.

You didn’t want to listen to my sister’s music, you wanted to kiss me.

You didn’t want to talk to my family, you wanted to kiss me.

You didn’t want us.

You wanted me.

At one point, I thought that was enough.

It wasn’t enough.

It never will be enough for me.

I wore your initial on the crook of my neck

As I walked through LA Pride.

My sign claimed I was in love with a girl.

A woman stopped me and told me how she wished she was as brave as me

When she was my age.

It was indeed brave for me.

I wanted to tell the world that I loved you.

Now that I don’t anymore,

Sometimes I feel like I only deserved that bravery when I was yours.

See, I don’t like to go out on Friday nights.

I like to hide in my room and watch Project Runway until I can’t keep my eyes open.

I like to stare at the art on my walls that I know all too well.

I like to facetime my friends and listen to them talk and talk about their days.

I like to highlight books of poetry and use them to make new art.

I like to turn Buzzfeed Ladylike on in the background while I organize my room

For the 800th time.

But you,

You made me want to leave the house some days.

And, of course, I was scared every time,

And every time I wanted to curl up underneath my blankets and hide

Because I fear even the best kinds of confrontation.

But with you, somehow,

Once I got up I was invincible.

I could take on every single thing life gave me.

I found a reason to be reckless without my stomach tightening.

When in love, I gave my shaky hands

And racing heart

To a girl who took them as romantic.

My inexperienced kissing is not romantic.

It is merely afraid.

I am often afraid.

You either watch or you leave.

Ignoring was never a valid option,

Yet that is the one you chose.

I know that, one day, the name of our playlist will change again,

And again,

And again.

And, one day, I will become a story

That you tell yourself when you’re trying to fall asleep.

I hope you know that I was not afraid of you,

That you are not the villain.

I hope you know that the villain was lost somewhere

In the cold night air,

As I read you a poem that I wish I didn’t write.