For the Stars

I’m sorry, for everything I’ve done. I had just been so damn terrified of getting my heart torn out by someone I loved again that I did it to myself. A part of me never recovered from that first time. It probably never will. I had heard “the more you love, the more you suffer.” And I was done suffering. But I got so caught up in feeling those emotions again that I forgot you are not him. You are not a boy of black holes and the depths of the oceans. You are the boy of stars and moons and light. I miss those stars. I’m sorry I blamed you for something someone else did. I’m sorry I left. I’m sorry if I broke you. I promised myself that would be the last thing I ever did, so I am so so sorry. You were never anything but good to me. I know that now. But I’m letting life take its course, the way it’s supposed to. 

I hope I’ll see you soon. 

  • e.o.

The Sun

I could’ve started fires with what I felt for you then. But instead you sat there and watched as I set myself on fire. And I swear to God you smiled as I burned. And the thing was, I had been so busy missing you that I forgot to be angry. So instead, I sat there and burned for a boy who had a bucket of water right next to him. Burned for a boy who laughed at the ashes I left behind. Burned for a boy who didn’t care. I left a trail of burnt flesh and tears, but you didn’t follow it. I bore my soul for you and built cities of words and wonder for you. I had dreams of bright lights and dazzling cities, and I left them all behind, for you. And none of it was enough. Because I wasn’t enough for the the boy that I thought was the sun, the one that I thought had put the damn stars in the sky. I gave up dancing in the moonlight and singing in the rain to fit what you wanted of me. In the end, I believe that I was loud and happy and bright, and you were quiet and lonely and dark. You tore down the cities I built for you, threw my soul in the fire. You couldn’t stand the idea of me having anything. So you took away my moonlight. You took away my rain. You gave me shadows and earthquakes and fear. Fear of trusting anyone. Fear of loving anyone. But I forgive you. I’ll keep forgiving you, for everything you never apologized for. Everything you never will apologize for. I’ve stopped burning. I’m rebuilding my cities, writing my words. I’m getting back my soul, one piece at a time. But you’ll always have one part of me. A piece I couldn’t get back no matter how hard I fought. Because it will always be yours. Even though I’m not. You are black holes and endless night. But me, I am the stars. The ever-changing moon.

I am the sun.

  • e.o.

The Last

This is the final one. The last story I will ever waste on you. This is the final goodbye. Maybe you’ll never see this, and you will never feel this reflection of the pain I felt, but maybe you will. Either way, this is the last time I will give words to someone who will only spit them back out. I am using the last of the blood you drew as ink and the wells of tears have grown dry. This is the last ode to the shadow of you you I had sat in for so long. I will no longer overflow and spill over with words for the boy who was terrified to even get his feet wet. You were just an angel fallen from the heavens with no desire to get back up, and you gave my words to the devil himself. I will not give up the last of my voice to the pits of you, not when I can give them to the boy who can re-light my soul. This is the last of my rage that I will let burn these pages. You gave me my voice back when I could not find it. And I refuse to let you drag it back into the depths of Hell to make yourself more human. I’m giving my words to someone who will remember them. My voice is going the person whose soul will let it in. The one who read and remembers that this is someone’s blood and tears, not just lead and ink. You never did appreciate how I chose to survive, so this is it. I hope I made it count. I’m giving my words to someone else. I’m getting my voice back, for the second time, and this time, I will not lose it. My stories are going to him, the one who remembered. The one who listened. The one who read, when no one else did. This is the final act for you. 

I hope you finally listened. 

  • e.o.

it’s my fau(lt).

It was supposed to be us.

It was supposed to be us when you stumbled your way into my first grade class and sat in the seat across from me.

It was supposed to be us when you picked me as your partner for etiquette class in third grade.

It was supposed to be us when our teacher told us off for playing footsies under the table in fifth grade.

It was supposed to be us even when we didn’t talk in middle school, only trading fleeting glances in the hallway and secret stares in class.

It was supposed to be us even when you were talking to another girl and I was dating a boy because everybody told me to.

It was us when you asked me to homecoming by writing it on a squishy ball that looked like it came from winning one of those arcade games at Fudruckers or Dave & Busters. Sorry it’s not more special, you said. You were sick all week so you couldn’t do anything bigger, but you still wanted to ask. I don’t think you realized that I didn’t care how you asked, just that you wanted to go with me. It’s the thought that counts, I told you as we walked at an extra slow pace, both dreading the goodbye we’d have to say.

It was us for almost eight months of happy and awkward moments, neither of us knowing how to act or what to do when you finally start dating your crush of eight years.

It was us when you took me to a Christmas concert for an acapella band I didn’t know with your dad and your sister and her friend. We purposely sat on the edge of the row so we could cuddle without being bothered. I remember you teased me about how much I played with my rings, eventually grabbing my hand to stop my fidgeting. You didn’t let it go. We cuddled in the backseat of the minivan on the way home and we held hands and you kissed my forehead and I had never felt more content than I was in your arms.

It was us when we went to a haunted house together and I made sure we were in the same group so I could hold your hand the whole way through because there’s no other way I’d make it to the end. You never let go of my hand.

It was supposed to be us even when I dropped you out of nowhere because of my own selfish reason and you didn’t question me or get angry with me, you were just hurt.

It was supposed to be us last summer when I did fun things and all I could think about was how much you’d enjoy whatever we were doing.

It was supposed to be us last October skipping homecoming together because we’d been there, done that and we’d much rather lay on the couch and watch movies together than stand around at a dance.

It was supposed to be us last November celebrating our one year anniversary but instead we weren’t even talking, me being too ashamed and you were too hurt I think.

It was supposed to be us last Winter when Christmas break came along we were supposed to go ice skating and to the zoo lights and to drink hot chocolate at Starbucks and to sit holding each other in front of the fireplace.

It was supposed to be us last week when I went to your second round playoff game telling myself it was to support my school but it was really just to see you. Every time you got knocked down I wanted nothing more than to pick you back up and kiss your wounds and when it looked like you weren’t going to get up I felt a tightening in my chest that I shouldn’t feel for someone who no longer loves me. But you got up and you scored and you waved to the crowd but I wished you were waving at me. When you won the game after going into overtime you ran to climb the fence that led to the stands and you hugged and high-fived people but I wished you climbed the rails and kissed me because of the rush of adrenaline and accomplishment you felt but it didn’t happen and maybe I cheered extra loud to cover up the longing I felt for you.

It was supposed to be us tonight when I went to watch you play in the third round of playoffs and I accidentally slipped and yelled at the other team to not hurt my player after he illegally slide tackled you. My friends looked at me like they knew, even though I never told them how I felt. It was a look of pity. After that I didn’t say many words, just screamed and blew into the airhorn I brought. When you went to penalties everyone was crowded into one end of the bleachers and your mom finally talked to me for the first time in a year, telling me she liked that I was blowing the airhorn extra loud to distract the other team. I wonder what you told her about us.

It’s supposed to be us for the rest of high school, killing it at prom and celebrating together at graduation.

It’s supposed to be us even when we go to college, hopefully together, starting our lives together as adults instead of kids in love. Getting an apartment together close to campus, maybe a dog or two could be the start of our little family.

It’s supposed to be us raising kids and spoiling grandkids until we’re too old to speak, the last story we tell being the one about how these two oldies have been in love since elementary school, and even though it took almost ten years to get it right, we wouldn’t change a thing.

It’s supposed to be us living a long and happy life together.

It was always supposed to be us.

Why can’t it be us?


  • m.f.

You Should Know

If you are going to fall in love with me, here are some things you should know. I cry a lot. Whether it be over school, or someone I lost, or a fictional character I believe just didn’t deserve it, I’ll cry. And you don’t need to say anything or try to fix it. You just need to hold me.

My biggest fear is letting someone completely in. They can run away with your secrets and never come back. So it may take time, but I’ll let you in. It may start with something small like why my favorite color is black or why my favorite book is The Last Time We Say Goodbye, but then it will work up to why I began writing in the first place.

I love God more than I could ever love you. I love him more than I love my own family. And I hope you don’t let any love you have for me eclipse your love for Him.

My best friend is make it or break it. She is important in my life and I would hope you could always be friends with her.

I am myself, but there are other people inside of me. You should get to know each one.

There will be times where I will be angry, and I won’t know why or how to stop it. There will be times where I will be sad, and I won’t know how to stop it. There will be times where I will be anxious, and I won’t know how to stop it. There will be times where I will be terrified, and I won’t know how to stop it.

I will lose myself so completely in a book that it may become all I think about. I just need someone to listen while I rant about the bigger meaning of the book, or why I wish a character acted differently.

Tell me the truth. Even if the truth makes your soul shake and rattles your bones. That’s when it’s most important.

I hope to challenge any dark that may be inside of you. Don’t run away when that happens.

And most importantly, if you love me, and if you give me everything you’ve got, I will never give up on you. I’ll love you until the end of the line, if you’ll let me.

There’s love in this world, and it’s more than worth the wait. We waste the word love on things that won’t matter in 30 years and people we don’t actually love. Don’t say love unless it makes your bones shake and your heart ache for fear of losing it. Love has lost its meaning and it’s time we give it back. Don’t waste your love, wait for it. Because it is coming, and when it finds you, you’ll know why you waited.

How to Love

Throughout her life, she’d only ever truly loved three people: her mother, who taught her to love the most, her father, who taught her to love the best, and her brother, who taught her to love endlessly. She watched her mother love her father, despite him drifting away at times, and watched her forgive her sister for causing all the heartbreak in her mother’s family. She saw her father’s heart break for the people beyond help and beyond saving and saw him fight for those who simply couldn’t. She looked on at her brother who comforted the girl who broke his heart and slept with his best friend when her father died. She thought she knew everything in the world about love. She loved the most, and the best, and endlessly. What else was there for her to learn?

But then he came into the picture. Not fast and destructive, like a tornado tearing through and scattering all the pieces of her life left behind, but slow and quietly, like a star being born in the vacuum of space, never disturbing the celestial beings in it’s orbit. Yes, she knew how to love, but what she didn’t know was what love was. She learned that love was him introducing her to his friends and not caring when they call him whipped. She learned that love was going out of his way to make sure she was never alone. Love was him holding her hand just to know that she was still there, and that she was always going to be. Love was him staying up late and not being able to fall asleep because he wasn’t positive she had gotten home alright. 

But when she learned what love was, she also learned that a person is not perfect. He wasn’t and she sure as hell was nowhere near it. They were never perfect together. But she could make him laugh. And she learned she would spend all the time in the world making him laugh. She made him admit to being different in a world that has been screaming for decades for people to be the same. She taught him what love was while he was teaching her, and they showed each other how to love, and how to be loved. All of the years of time and space and all of the people in the universe had conspired to get them here to this place. Where her mother loved her the most, and her father loved her the best, and her brother who loved her endlessly, and the first love of her life who showed her what love was. He didn’t ever hurt her, or change her, but loved her when he was with her and when he was without her. So in the end, she loved the most, and the best, and endlessly. And she could see what love was, from a thousand miles away. 

So this was for the boy who showed her what love was and for all the people she loved after. Because they were loved most, and best, and endlessly, and tangibly. 

  • e.o.