One year ago was the first time you asked me to go out spontaneously. I said yes, but I don't think you remember that and you never asked me again because that is how you limited your view of me.

synecdoche.

We drank too much. I saw your name for me in your phone. We went on the have a painful romantic weekend; yet I still had some of the best fun of my life.

a part is made to represent the whole

You couldn't even look at me. You answered all questions with that tone.... The one that quietly stabbed apathy and disinterest.

Broken

Normally there is a tv, music, some bar drama or the ocean, but tonight there was nothing. Just me and my body art, a room full of Mainline assholes and a chatter box to keep it so we could hardly notice. He couldn't even look at me. And it felt like that weekend a year ago. I thought: I deserve so much more than this-- hugs, cuddles, care, kindness-- yet I know I need to survive and the only way I will survive is by self care

having been fractured or damaged and no longer in one piece or in working order.

"a broken arm"

synonyms:smashed, shattered,fragmented, splintered,crushed, snapped

So I kept on keeping on. You dropped me off and forgot all about our spontaneous outing on the Fourth of July. You shut down and I felt so ignored, thrown away and defeated.

Self preservation

I reach out. Speaking my truths to her. She asks questions, gives compliments freely, smiles and props me up. She knows she isn't the one, if we are to presume the one even exists. I didn't think it did until you. And I feel ashamed to admit that I still think you are that one... Just like I feel ashamed to admit I think one day he might not hate me.

the protection of oneself from harm or death, especially regarded as a basic instinct in human beings and animals

So I sit here, resisting the urge to slice, to contact you, to blame myself. Instead I use these fucking stupid skills.... To grow bigger and bolder and more that that synecdoche, than that broken 4, 15, or 36 year old, than that womyn barely hanging on....

I move on and rise.

I had a dream last night so realistic I woke up thinking it was real. It wasn't a lucid dream but it felt so real because it was so real... Like that first time I tripped acid and we made up a lie about my boyfriend flaking on us. After a night of random art projects and smoking out the basement door it felt so real, I broke up with him.

So last night you were kissing her. I didn't feel jealous. I just felt sad. I knew it was over, as it is. And that kiss just sealed the deal. That kiss just reminded me of the words I once overheard about a connection beyond anything we have experienced. It reminded me you are always in love... But never with me.

Last night I had a dream so lucid I thought it was real. In it, you would never speak to me again and time flowed here and there, making this last 34 days feel like 1000.... A hundred thousand moments that could have been love, had you been interested in that over everything else, like privacy and propriety... Screaming it out like I felt.

I woke up feeling so alone, so broken.

We are worth a thousand chances but we only had none. None because you were gone from the beginning, hidden behind a narrative of not having needs, emotions, or abilities in the communication department. You always say that this doesn't come naturally to you, and I always think in the back of my head, "what does come naturally?" Was the 12 year old you shut down and cranky or is that just the 15 year old you?

And I miss you every single moment that should be one of our thousand chances. I wish we were creating these dream state moments. I wish we were. But that was just a dream of a 1000 chances.... All of which we were worth.