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no. 34, 5 june
his eyes are the most beautiful thing in the world. they are so blue and they shine, hell they shine so much, like the brilliance of a thousand suns— it’s blinding. he blinds me, and no one loves the light like the blind man. his fingers are long and slender and i can’t help imagining what they’d look like entwined in my own. his skin is perfect and golden and glowing and i can’t stop myself from wanting to cup it in my hands. he’s perfect, and i want so badly to breathe in the light he emits and soak in his warmth until i’m an overflowing sink. i want to stumble in his footprints of sunshine and let them lead me out of the tunnel i’ve lost myself in.
no. 35, 6 june
except he’s so perfect, and i so damaged, and how can i see clearly with my eyes clouded with an echo of my judgement? he’s perpetually in my mind, like an obnoxious light shining out of a hole in the cave of misery i’ve spent so long building for myself. his voice echoes in the back of my head when i get shitfaced and sometimes i find myself answering to it, chasing imaginary locks of blonde around my head, picturing his smile and his eyes and his laugh and when i wake up with a hangover so bad my head pounds, he’s gone. there’s no one there to brush the messy curls out of my face when i retch into the toilet.
no. 36, 7 june
i love that version of him, the one i have in my head, of a god clad in red, his eyes ablaze and his hands marble. i love the version of him i dream with my head swimming in booze— his voice soft and quiet and his hands clutching my own as i see his smile imprinted behind my eyelids. my friends call it obsession but how can they know, when they’ve never been trapped in darkness, when they’ve never seen a light bright enough to be thought of as hope? i drink and drink and drink and hope that maybe one day, that dream will come true.
no. 37, 7 july
he hates me.
no. 38, 8 july
i’ve seen the way he looks at me. the fire in his eyes is all wrath, the passion in his voice all rage. his beautiful hands are balled up into fists and what else can i do but continue to spout nonsense that i pick from the hazy pool in the back of my mind? it’s the only way he’ll look at me. the only way he looks at me. me and nobody else.
no. 39, 13 july
his hand left an imprint on my cheek today, and it scares me that that’s all i remember.
no, 44325324
imn so ufcjked up wtf lolhe hatsrs me he heates me heh eates me he hates me heg ates eme h
Entry no. 1, 21 July
I saw him in the hospital today. His dark curls were disheveled and he’s paler than I've seen him in ages, and when I tried to get closer he laughed at me and told me to fuck off, he “doesn’t need any more illusions in his life”. Am I just that? An illusion to him? Something he thinks he can conjure up while drunk and hurl arguments at in between flirts and cynical jests? He confuses me, and so does the stabbing feeling in my chest the moment he told me to leave the room.
no. 41, 25 july
he sits closer to me now. the wrath in his eyes is lessened if not depleted when he talks to me; is it just because i’m sober or because i spent a week in the hospital after a bad night? if that’s what it is i hope it doesn’t continue to deter him from his anger and hatred. i don’t need his pity. i don’t need him to be cautious around me because one night showed him how easily broken i am. i don’t need him to feign kindness when he would never notice or be impacted by me had i not collapsed on the ground before him. the doctors say alcohol will mess with my meds, but what is it to them?
Entry no. 2, 27 July
He spent the night wrapped in my arms, shaking and crying and vomiting into my kitchen sink. His hands are calloused and eternally paint-stained, his arms are toned from boxing. His eyes are blue like the ocean too; I never noticed when they were covered by the dull haze of alcohol. I don’t know what came over me when I asked him to stay, or what came over him because tears instantly started rolling from his eyes and I had to resist the urge to reach up and wipe them away. He thinks I'm perfect and the only thought I can conjure up is how? When you’re busy seeing red at the edges of your vision, it takes away your ability to notice the sadness pouring from the edges of theirs.
no. 42, 27 july
he told me to stay and that was the first night i’ve slept soundly.
no. 43, 5 august
when he smiles there are the shallowest dimples near the corners of his mouth, when he laughs i see his two front teeth are just the slightest bit crooked. he has a habit of tucking his hair behind his ear, and when i did it for him his eyes shone at me— but not in a bad way. he didn’t seem to mind. my chest feels warm whenever he looks at me now and it feels like i’m in a dream because there’s no way any of this could possibly be real. i have so many feelings towards him but i shy away from accepting his jacket around my shoulders the instant my mind jumps to the possibility they might be returned.
Entry no. 3, 7 August
He’s avoiding me now for no reason at all, and it worries me in ways that nothing else has before. I’m worried he’ll turn to bottles to drown his thoughts instead of taking my hand like he’s started doing. He says he’s too tired when I ask him to get coffee with me, he turns away when I smile at him— am I doing something wrong? It’s so frustrating I
Entry no. 4, 7 August
I think I
no. 44, 8 august
he said he loved me and i laughed at him. laughed. at him. because just the very prospect is absurd, a person that perfect able to see something in me that i can’t even see in myself. because if he’s really so perfect, why would he— and how could he bring himself to such a low level as mine so as to love me? i really must be insane, if my brain can imagine such a scenario to be real.
Entry no. 5, 8 August
He didn’t believe me, just like he never believed in anything I’ve said and in his eyes I saw a hurt— a real hurt this time, not masked by glasses and glasses of wine. How can he be the one hurt when my heart in turn threatens to rip itself out of my chest and into pieces? I feel anger like I did months ago but this time it’s at myself and the question still looms: Am I the one messing things up?
no. 45, 9 august
i love him. i love him so much it hurts and surely he has to see that, but how can i believe the words he says when i’ve never loved myself at all? how can i believe that it’s not just pity in his heart, because he’s seen me at my worst and never at my best— what is my best at all? my thoughts are a mess and i want to tell him that i do, too— that he is my sun and my light and everything i’ve ever believed in, i want to tell him that he’s doing nothing wrong, just made the mistake of falling in love with me. but if there’s anything more frightening than him hating me, it’s that he’ll leave me and i won’t be able to have him back.
Entry no. 6, 9 August
He loves me; I know he does. But how can I make him love himself enough that he’ll be convinced I love him as much as he does me?
no. 46, 10 august
i said yes to him, how hard is it not to cave when there are bricks clamped around your throat and your only light is just that close? i held his hand and he smiled at me, pressed his lips to my cheek. i cried for ten minutes in my bathroom when i got home.
Entry no. 7, 10 August
I love him. I love him. I love him.
no. 47, 13 august
i said to him “love is a strong word” and he replied “so is hate.” so i told him i once thought he hated me and he laughed and said he never hated me, and he could never. he said he believes in me, and wants to make me believe in myself too even if he doesn’t understand me sometimes. so i did the only thing that felt natural; i kissed him on the mouth. and then he pressed his lips back against mine and held my face in his hands and i saw the gold flecks that danced in the blue irises of his eyes. he makes me so happy; what did i ever do to deserve this?
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Entry no. 34, 5 June
He leaves his clothes all over the floor and in some places my walls are paint-stained, he throws his sketchbooks on the floor and his doodles into the trash and I have to fish through garbage to get them out. He uses my couch as a bar for when he dances, and my shoulders for when he stretches. He’s messy and leaves beer cans crumpled on the floor of my kitchen— but he also has made my cats like him more than they like me even though he’s mildly allergic, he’s decorated the apartment with many of his paintings and offers me tickets to see his shows, and he’s moving in officially tomorrow. He could stay forever if he wanted to and I’d never love him less.
no. 72, 5 june
he’s always particular about the way his books are arranged, he’s picky when he eats, and he uses obnoxiously ethical hair products, clothing, and everything really. he insists on making the bed every morning and brushing his teeth in fear of morning breath, spends a lot more money than necessary on organic ingredients, and drinks an unhealthy amount of coffee. but— his face lights up in a smile when he looks at my drawings and his hand is always outstretched in case i need it to balance. at home he wears glasses and ties his hair up in a blonde bun to keep it from falling in waves over his neck when he works. he goes out to meetings often and comes back with an energized attitude, buzzing about the people he’s met and the things he’s accomplished, his eyes bright and his smile like rays of sunshine. i’m moving in with him tomorrow. he tells me he loves me every day, and every day i believe him a little bit more.