what’s it like to fall in love with someone who hates love?

it sits inside him, like the night he tried to drown himself in stomach acid and whiskey.
it sits there heavy, all the weight on his shoulders, on his chest, and in his teeth.
it sits in his stomach, yellow leaves of bile, making him ill.

you know how to cradle it, to let it make a home in you.  you let it grow on you. you give it your arms and neck and back to stretch into. it asks for a place to hide and you open your palms, where it sleeps, thorns and flowers and all.
it is soft and wild and leaves blood wherever it goes.
the beating of your heart will make his ears hurt and won’t let him sleep at night, his eyes are always somewhere else. somewhere safe. somewhere distant.  somewhere not you.  you think it’s going to be different this time, you think, “this time, they’re going to want to stay.“, but you’re drowning in their palms while they’re halfway out the door, their eyes drowning in someone else’s.  you give them your best self only for them to hand it back to you in a plastic bag, with broken shards sticking out.

He can’t look you in the eye, says, “it feels like seasickness, like the nausea you get while spinning in circles. Makes me feel dizzy and weak.
you hold your hands out to him and all he sees are thorns, yellow leaves, and all the weight. he will spit you out three sizes smaller, and you will hurt so much you shut away your own heart.

– excerpt from a book I’ll never write



men occupy a very small place upon the earth

Not everyone you meet is a lesson.
Not everyone hurts you just so you could learn to heal yourself.
Most of them come with hatchets and hammers, and none of them come with gauze.  None of them come with Band-Aids or a sewing kit.
Listen to me: not every pain you feel is a part of a bigger plan to force you to learn.
Stop forgiving people for hurting you because you think they helped you grow.
You helped yourself grow. You put all your limbs back together. You put your heart back inside your broken ribs and stitched your own chest up.
it was all you.
Stop giving people who hurt you credit for things they do not deserve.

– excerpt from a book I’ll never write

Why is it that one runs to one’s ruin?

Why is destruction such a fascination?
– Oscar Wilde

Well aren’t you a special little thing.
Leaving bite marks on the skin you swore to never touch, growing in the spaces your bodies make when they’re wide open and begging.
Tell me how you became so hollow you had to swallow me whole to feel something, then tell me how it doesn’t mean anything anymore.  Pretend I’m not choking on the aftermath of you, then pretend you don’t taste me in your cavities when she leaves.
When your father asks you why your teeth ache, smile and tell him you’ve never tasted anything so bittersweet.
In another world we don’t even need to have this conversation.
In another world you already know what I want to say before I open my mouth.
There is no need for words.
You’ll tell me that you’re afraid to be alone in the way you overfill both of our coffee mugs or the way you never make my side of the bed.
I’ll hear all your insecurities in your hands; the whiskey they’ve poured, the broken glasses they’ve caused, the shaky eggs they’ve fried.
You’ll know my last heartbreak and the way I end every phone call with just.. call me back when you can instead of goodbye.
You’ll know I’ve missed you when you come back to all the lights off, the bed made, and I’m curled up in the center, never under the sheets without you.
In another world we don’t have to say things to make them real.
We are so many worlds apart now.
There are silences between us that are far too great to touch.
Silences too strong for us to even try to undo.
Now tell me, when did you lose all your words for me?
When did your lips pull back and your tongue recoil into your own mouth?
You’d think I would have talked more.
Spoken louder and closer to your ears if I knew that our mouths would turn empty for each other.  I would have made you say your words again, softer and slower this time.
I would swallow your words and listen to them over and over.

– excerpt from a book I’ll never write

summer’s over

you were all the seasons of the year.
one day you would be summer; always lovely, telling me I was beautiful and how we were meant to be.
other days you were winter; cold and harsh and pushing me away.
making me feel inadequate, constantly feeling as if no matter what I did, I could never be enough.
almost always, you were autumn; slowly but surely, shutting down and falling apart.
watching this secret internal storm made me take pity on you.
I feel sorry for you.
I feel sorry that you’ve lost someone who loved you so much.
someone who would have burned themselves alive just to show you how brightly you shine – you will never find someone else happy to be that selfless.
you let your insecurities eat at you, the disdain you had towards yourself still fueling the thought you didn’t deserve someone as kind and loving.  in spite of all those lies you told, you were right about one thing: you were never enough. 
you never made me feel completely fulfilled.
I watched as you constantly broke yourself down, but you utterly destroyed me.
now, I’ve found someone who treats me the way I treated you, but you will never find someone who cared for you more than I did.
but you’ll continue your days as seasons; some days as sunny and bright, and others as just plain old cold, harsh rain. you’ve lost me, and that’s devastating, and I, I will always be sorry.


-excerpt from a book I’ll never write

words are the source of misunderstandings

for as long as I can remember, I have been in love with words.
one of my very first gifts as a sweet lil babe was a book of poetry.
I still have it tucked away safely in the loft at my parents house, too afraid to bring it with me for fear of losing everything that molded my heart.

now, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry was absolutely correct when he said, “words are the source of misunderstandings.”

If you study the English language, most of our sentences come from a single word that exist in another.  For some inexplicable reason, it seems we Americans always have to take the hard way out.  Whatever.

here are a few of my favourite untranslatable, undeniably potent words for you to devour:

La Douleur Exquise – The heart-wrenching pain of wanting someone you can’t have.
Chômer – To be unemployed, but because it’s a verb, it makes the state active.
Profiter – To take advantage of, or make the most of.
Flâneur – As defined in the book Elegant Wits and Grand Horizontals, it’s “The deliberately aimless pedestrian, unencumbered by any obligation or sense of urgency, who, being French and therefore frugal, wastes nothing, including his time which he spends with the leisurely discrimination of a gourmet, savoring the multiple flavors of his city.”
Esprit d’escalier – The literal translation is “wit of the staircase”, but it means to think of a comeback when it’s far too late.
Retrouvailles –  The happiness of meeting again after a long time.
Sortable – An adjective for someone you can take anywhere without being embarrassed.
Voilà / Voici –  It’s so necessary that we use it all the time. “voilà” literally means “there it is.” and “voici” means “here it is.”
Empêchement – An unexpected last-minute change of plans.  A great excuse without having to be specific.
Saudade – A nostalgic longing to be near again to something or someone that is distant, or that has been loved and then lost; “the love that remains.”

These words have burrowed their way down and made a cozy little nest in my heart, where they’re snuggled in and glowing happily. They won’t come out for love or money.


you are beautiful, but you are empty,

One could not die for you.
In honor of today being world book day, here are my two favourite novels.

Anyone who knows me at all knows that Extremely Loud is my favorite novel of all time.
It is my heart and soul.  
These books have been read, reread, marked, cried on, lost, borrowed, and returned more times than I can count.  They have thoughts and notes and underlines and scribbles among their pages, making them completely my own.
After reading a book, you give a part of yourself to it, and you take a part of it with you for the rest of your life.  You will be forever changed.
I keep my copy of Extremely Loud on my beside table, next to The Little Prince, and flip open to passages every night.
Just to feel.
What makes Extremely Loud so incredible is the mind of Oskar.
His imagination and curiosity, his extremely sensitive heart, his way of speaking words so beautifully and eloquently with the naivety of the mind of a child, but with the vocabulary and intelligence of an adult.
These words make my heart so incredibly heavy, that sometimes it’s hard to breathe.
Words cannot express the impact these books have had on my emotional being.

With The Little Prince, it reminds me that grown ups never understand anything. That words are the source of misunderstandings.  You mustn’t forget: you become responsible forever, for what you’ve tamed.

These books are two of my most prized possessions and dearest treasures.

So on world book day, remember:
Date a girl who treats you the same way she treats books.
– We’ll continuously critique you and feel no remorse as we break your spine
– We’ll be done with you in a week and move on immediately.
Happy reading, my loves.