Will someone please tell me
how to let him in?
I am trying so hard
to let him into my heart,
forcing my arms open
for him.
But I'm struggling,
and I'm tired of fighting myself.
I'm tired of being scared and afraid
because of someone else's stupid decisions.

My heart is staler than it used to be. A little bit older. A little bit stiffer. Like a smoker's lungs, blackened with the toxins that I inhaled for so long, refusing to accept the fact that he was dangerous and not healthy for me. But I was young, and stupid, and addicted to his high.

I always told myself I wouldn't be one of those girls who got hurt and then refused to love again. But even now, when you're showing all the signs, I find my reclusive heart burying itself behind my lungs, reminding me to breathe you in first. Only when I feel safe in your arms will I allow the vapors to waft into my heart.

My eyes are sharper now, more aware of every move you make, calculating, speculating, waiting for you to say or do something so I can push you away. I used to see through slanted vision, but now I know to keep my eyes wide. And it's not fair to you, but when you've been hurt and abused as many times as I have, the scars on your arms learn to sense the danger long before they allow another's skin to touch mine.

This Is How We Will Say Goodbye - by Stephanie Martin

This is how we will leave each other.

You will leave at 10:13 on platform 12, seven minutes before you have to catch your train back home. I will have knots in my hair and will be wearing the same clothes from last night, because we would have ran out of time in the morning to shower or tidy ourselves up.

I will try to tell you all the things I have kept inside of me, but my aptitude for words will be falling short. Instead, we will talk about the weather and how you hope the train won’t be filled with people on their morning commute. The unlucky vowels that I had chained together during our car ride will stay tucked away under my tongue, and will be washed down with the strongest coffee that the barista had to offer at the petrol station. I will jokingly ask him if coffee can wash down the shame of being cheated on, and he will reply that tequila works best for that.

I will leave you with the brightest smile that I can craft, parting you with the illusion that my heart isn’t breaking into a thousand pieces. I will think how the fragile pieces shine like the reflective glass in the concrete mixture on the floor. I will keep looking at them while you go through the checklist of things you need to bring. I will note how I am not on it and feel the cracks under my ribs escalate with every beating pulse. I have every right to be angry, you will say. It is as if validation can only be granted with your signed approval and charming smile. I will focus on counting the glittering particles and wait for acceptance to wash over me. I will pray that it’s on the next train coming in so that I can leave with more than what I came with.

I will leave you with the heartbreak that has folded itself inwardly with unforgiving heaviness. I will feel tiredness in every limb that begins from the chest and escalates to my toes. Even my words will seem dull and dry, and I will not know how to make them sound exciting or beautiful like they use to. Maybe that’s what you thought of when you kissed her; how her words shined so brightly in that dark bar and how her voice coated every syllable with an enthralling allure.

Looking at my words hurt my eyes, because they now exist with so much madness and disappointment that I feel like they are judging me for being such a poor host to them. All that is pouring out of my fingertips are harsh arrangements like ‘fuck’, ‘shit’, ‘betrayal’ and a couple of ‘what the fuck’ with too many ‘why the hell did you do that, you asshole’. Those are just a few examples of the words that I want to throw at you.

The ability to write delicate pretty words will be put on the back burner, because I have lost the ability to string together flowing lines on how much I loved you. I wanted to remind the world that I had never seen such bright and promising eyes like yours, but the world no longer needs to hear them. So I will follow the barista’s suggestion and begin my search for too much tequila with my roommate.

I will learn to live and let live, just like how you once whispered into my ears as we danced at your sister’s wedding in October. I will remember that it is your loss and that you are missing out on the fullness that only I can offer you.

I will leave you with open palms and my head held high to the summer sky. I will leave with grace and integrity that you lack in both virtues and morals. But most of all, I will leave you with the certainty that I will one day feel love in my ribs for another boy who will think that I am more than enough. I will leave you because I deserve better than anything you can offer, and the two other chances I gave you were twice too many.

He picked me up at 6:26, right as my panic attack peaked. I hugged my dad for dear life, because I was so terrified. I had a tiny bit of vodka because I was so panicked, and I don't even drink.

I curled my hair, and pinned by bangs back so they wouldn't get in my face like they always do.
I wore my red sweater, with black jeans, and my cable-knit socks with my combat boots. The ones with the ribbon laces. I had my little side purse, with the tassels. My face was masked. My eyes dusked with a champaign color, my eyelashes lush.  And I stood there terrified. I felt beautiful, and amazing, and confident, and terrified, and so insecure. He wore a hat with ears. He called it his russian hat, and I laughed.

He picked me up at the door,  instead of just texting me. And my dad said hi. I just wanted to run into my dad's arms, go on a "date" with him instead. He walked me to his car, and opened the door for me, which is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. I told him he was really tall. He said I looked nice.

We went bowling. He won twice. We tied 75-75 once. The Simpsons were on the television above our heads. He tried to spell my name without an H. He wears a size 11. My ball was green. His was brown. We laughed until my face hurt, and bowled until I couldn't feel my arm.  We had alley #3. We bowled for an hour.

Then we went to Denny's. At first he tried to go to some other restaurant in his town, but it was closed. We went the Denny's on Washtenaw. He told me that didn't pay for their food there once. I thought that was weird, but whatever. He ordered cinnamon pancakes, but he told me they were too sweet. He ordered his eggs over-easy and put pepper on them, and butter on his pancakes. I ordered waffles and bacon and sausage and scrambled eggs, and we both got waters. I got weird pancake ball things because my waffle almost didn't work out. The machine was broken or something, so I almost had to get french toast.

At the end of the night, he hugged me. I don't know if he tried to kiss me or not, but it was awkward. First dates always are.

I just don't want to forget this night. It was so incredibly normal.

"We are all just waiting for another universe to collide with ours, to change what we can’t ourselves. To fill us, to make us whole. It’s interesting how afterwards, we realize that the storm returns to calm, but the stars are always changed and we don’t choose whose collisions change us." - Brianna Wiest

Someday,
I know
I will let go of this hurt
and hate
that follows me around
and strangles me,
so that my eyesight blurs,
and all I can see
is red
anger.

Someday,
I will look out my bedroom window,
and be content
with my life.
Surrounded by hopes
and dreams,
that are finally real for me.
I will be loved,
and I will love others
without hesitance,
and you
will be a distant memory.

Someday.

My lungs are screaming.
I grab at my chest,
as if this gesture
will somehow relieve the pressure.

Breathe in,
feel the resistance
as the harsh air burns
through your trachea.
Your body shudders,
protesting,
and then giving in.

Breathe out.
Relief.
There is air
in this world.
You can breathe.
He can't take that away.
No one can.
You are in control.

One more breathe.
One more day.
Slowly
learning to live
again.

Music is your inhaler.
Take daily,
as needed
to free your heart
from the pain.
To free your lungs
from the ropes
that bind them closed.