good things

i wasn’t looking, i suppose,

it was dark

and i was tired, my eyes glazing over

looking at the street and not, at the same time

a pedestrian, a cyclist, a car appearing where they were not

at the same time

it comes out of nowhere and then i feel myself release

and a swelling ache at the bottom of my jaw

and the crunch of metal on metal

and the music’s stopped, now, the tune’s all gone

just the night

my body and tail light pulsing

birds flying overhead

a voice at the back of my head, kissing the base of my neck

asking,

is it hard to rest?

you listen to me very tenderly, you hold me very gently, you watch me as my eyes glaze over and also when you make them roll back. i am unsure of how fast or how slow to go, a river seems to be taking us along and i want to enjoy the ride but i also am so afraid of being the one to drown us both

you tell me in the car that you feel very lucky, that you almost cant believe it, sometimes you feel like an imposter, i feel it when your eyes fall on me then fall away, i feel it when you put your hand on the small of my back in a crowded room, i feel it when you grab my hand as if it’s the last time.

i feel special with you. you feel special to me. you make me feel like i am full of a million shiny things and i hope i make you feel the same.

could i live inside your mind? or maybe wrapped around your fingers

pressing against my mouth, or

the inside of my left cheek.

could i know all of the pieces

that are floating around in your brain? could i believe

everything that you say?

when there are stretching hours and miles

where do i land?

is there any ground between you and me? is there anything?

because one moment and i am suddenly afraid

when i realize how badly i wanted to put my hand on your cheek

the moment i saw your eyes follow me down

how do i tell you that i am afraid?

so instead i smile and tell you you’re dangerous for me

and you tell me it can’t be

when you’re afraid, too

leahberman:

painted peaks; death valley, california

instagram - twitter - website

how do i be someone to you? 

how can a connection be so quickly undone 

am i trying too hard? should i not try at all 

my ankle hurts, a shooting pain up my leg

hour 7 has me thinking about you again 

maybe i’m just silly or plain nostalgic 

but sometimes i have to remind myself that 

i am not the main character 

and that kinda sucks.

but damn, i don’t feel like i exist if 

i am not in someone’s mind— 

i mean, isn’t that the only place we live? 

im moving sunspots and shadows with my eyelashes

watching birds fly across blooming clouds

sitting on the sidelines, tired of the chase

trying to solve a riddle that was never said

can i climb a mountain and run it all away? 

is that something i can find in someone else?

the inevitable, never ending ordeal

a head on a shoulder, the infinite silence 

death in a void that follows me every night 

in a uncomfortably unbalanced bed 

now we’re passing where i know you live

nestled in a bed, alone or with someone i don’t know

to be so close and yet so far, a familiar feeling

so used to chasing what isn’t even there 

what did we used to talk about on these roads?

and honestly i don’t think there was much at all

id fall asleep in my phone and put on your songs

and offer you something or other but in the end

you said no to all of it

and that’s something i just have to remember

when i’m missing you at the back of a car

i want to feel it in my chest i want it to

radiate. shimmer, sunspots, dancing

have i ever told you how dark it used to be?

it’s a joke, now, a given

that i can’t stay on my feet or the ground

i’m rolling my own ankle, breaking my own heart

volume so loud i can’t hear the cars behind me

wrapping my limbs so tight i can’t feel them

so connected to the disconnect,

i’m pining but cancelling plans

smoking another cigarette and looking for your car

sleep so heavy on my eyes

but it’s the hardest part of the day, falling asleep

i wonder and i think and i wonder and i think

i’m here and i’m not and i’m slipping again

am i addicted or exhausted or do i need to go to the doctor

am i thirsty or lonely or needing to reflect or focus on work

am i not working for the right things or am i working on my past

the future feels so far but it is also so near

i love and it is not enough, i sleep and it is not enough

all i know is that i want to feel something

and i’m just not feeling like i am anything at all.

what’s kind of funny is that i still feel like you’re here. i wear your sweatpants and take them off when i get into bed. i throw them on the side you used to sleep on and the night settles in, the dark blue. it feels like you’re here. i make a certain noise and remember, dazedly, that it was a noise we used to make to each other. it doesn’t hurt as much as i think; instead, it just feels like you’re still here, just in the other room. the amber light from our lamps is still the same, after all, it’s me and my family in our little living room and you’re still here, at least to some degree. the left end of the couch that you liked, the jar i’d make your overnight oats in. it’s all still here.

i know you’re not, though. i think i just like holding onto this piece of you, like the little grains of sand i keep in my shoe because then i get to carry the ocean around. i carry you around with me. i won’t delude myself, we weren’t happy, it fell apart for many reasons. but my god, you were in my life in such a big way. for you to leave and disappear like that—

so you live on, in my life, as someone i carry, at least all the parts that i still cherish and love. your wide shoulders, your sweet smile, your warm hands. i hold onto those. 

i’m home, today, and it wasn’t as hard as i thought it would be. not that it wasn’t. not that it isn’t. i don’t know what to do with all of these little things of you, i think i’ll keep them all in a box. my sister says she gave the things her old lover gave her away, but i think that was one of the most fundamental differences between you and i—i’m not one to let go. i don’t mean that as in i’ll never let you go, but more that i won’t and don’t want to fight the fact that you were this big thing in my life for a while. that you were my sunshine for a while. that you broke my heart, but again, just for a while.

so i’m picking up pieces and putting you in a little box i’ll keep in my closet. i’ll look for the sun in the sky and in myself. i don’t want to say it’s not hard, it’s hard to wake up, at 6am i thought can i even do this? and frankly, i don’t want to, but i have to, so i’ll sing all these sweet platitudes over and over again until i’m whole. until putting luggage in a car doesn’t remind me of you. until goldfish and the summer light and mountain points and slow guitar and midnight drives down the highway are all things i can have for myself again.

im sitting in the back of a truck, listening to trees racing by, watching the moon. im stretching in the sun, running in the sun, pulling back my limbs in the sun. sand in my hair and the grooves of my best friends car seats. another glass of beer cold against my red cheek. wind flinging back my hair as we careen through the mountains, people are happy to see me, i am always astounded. this has never been a happier reminder than now. i had forgotten, i think, how it is to be loved by so many people and how to love myself. and how to spread my love across other people, too, in the early mornings and the darkened evenings. i don’t think i’ve been taking care of myself, i am so tired and i just scroll through things on my phone that i don’t care much about. i dream about driving in my car through a forest and working in yosemite and wiping the glitter off my face and singing in a brewery and wrapping string lights around my front porch and biking down mountain roads and feeling sweat and seawater and happiness, in every capacity, because i think i know my own capacity, and i think it can hold so much. 

that is my language of love. it’s my wandering heart. it’s a life i want to give to myself. it’s this little girl in me who never got to see the world, who was trapped in a backyard of someone else’s home, looking up at the stars and yearning for everything that was outside. 

i want to show her the world. 

today it felt like that was truly, really truly, it. i don’t know what changed, i don’t think anything really did. i ran until i couldn’t, until sweat was hot on my shoulders, my hair falling out of my braids. everything caught in my throat. and i just sat and cried hot tears. my friend told me once that saltwater can heal everything: sweat, crying, and the ocean, and i think she’s right. i cried and all i could think was that today was the day that i really let everything go. this world, this life, this future that i had imagined with you, blue skies careening overhead, your warmth in the dead of night, mountains rising and falling like my head on your chest, like our hands intertwined over forest floor. i grieve, completely and entirely, knowing that that is all gone. i want to be a person of optimism, hope, and second chances, but i won’t be that person for this.

because i think i know that you’re not going to be that person for me.

so today’s the day i let it all go. i’ll miss you, i’ll still be sad some days, but i’m sleeping better. i’m smiling more. i’m letting you go.

how long were you unhappy for? how long, how much did you hurt? when you sat me down at the table that afternoon you were so sad but so eager to leave, i could feel it in your arms as you let me go. i could feel it in the way you tossed and turned the nights before, my heart clambering in my chest. i could feel it even when i turned to you and felt the distance, miles and miles away, even when i put my palms on your chest, my cheek on your back. even when i asked you if you were alright and you said yes, yes. you came to my life with such an intensity, i felt enormous and radiant in your gaze. the world a million colors and i was one of them with you. joy and love unbridled, unlimited. you showed me abundance in all of it, you taught me that that could exist.

until it couldn’t.

i have to believe that it still does. i have to believe that time will weave strength and wisdom and that i will grow and learn and all those good things that i can feel when i’m sprinting along the sand in the summer sun. i have to believe that your love was only for so much for so long because of everything we couldn’t control, but that there is love that can be so much more and can stay so much longer and that can exist. patience and kindness and forgiveness for myself, you were an angel to me when you were able to be and for that i thank you. for showing me and making me believe. in you, in me, in everything.

the same song: i don’t know where you are, what you’ve been thinking, what you’re doing these days. i don’t know how you feel about me, about us, about anything. i don’t know who you are, i don’t know who the person that i thought i knew went, i don’t know. i grieve something that still exists in this tangible world. i don’t know what i did, i don’t know what i can do. all i know is that i stand in a parking lot of a brewery we were at months ago, where you held me in your arms and it hurt to say goodbye. i watched your car leave and my grief felt heavy in my heart, heavier than i’d ever felt it, but now i stand there, alone, heavier still, lonelier still. my best friend comes behind me and hugs me tight, rests her head on my shoulder. and i know i am not alone, at the very least. i am still loved, lovable, good, at least. i will just not know, i will just let you go. a new song i try to sing.

i find myself getting so scared and so deliriously alone when i am reminded of how small i am. today i break out in a rash on both the backs of my hands, the itch begins under my skin and then my fingers start to swell, my breath sticks in my throat and my friends ask if i’m okay but all i can think is how well you took care of me that one night i got so sick i couldn’t even sit still. shaky, naked, crying in your chest as you rubbed calamine on my back and murmured soothing sounds. i fell into you like that. i don’t think it was wrong, i don’t think it was right. maybe you wanted to take care of me but it was too much, maybe you got scared of holding me, i’ll never know. but eventually the pain stopped and we fell asleep and then you left me months later. i’ll never know. but my hands stopped itching, eventually, the swell dying down, the ocean loud. later i lie awake at night and try not to think about you. instead, i think about how i am grateful for my friends who take me to walgreens and buy me antihistamines. i am grateful for my body, even when it does things that terrify me. i am grateful for the long nights to remind me that i am not alone, even when my brain wants desperately to believe that. i relied on you, you were there for me, now i remind myself every day that i can, i must, i want to, rely on myself, even the things that scare me, even when i wonder.

it’s a sweet song i sing to myself.

i miss you very much today, suddenly. it hits like a truck. i don’t know how to explain it, maybe it’s the loneliness that descends at a party of strangers. maybe it’s watching people wrap their arms around each other, that starry, pulsating kind of love, an exclusive showcase where i get front row seats to what i wish i had. maybe it’s the stark reminder of the gaze and appraisal, the never ending hunt for approval and validation, the text back. all from men i do not truly have interest in, but simply just a way for my brain to say if A=B and B=C and His love=Another’s sustained eye contact, then—

i write about loving you, about letting you go. about unwrapping adventures for myself instead. someone new cocks his head at me and asks me how old i am. you’ve got time, he says, laughing. don’t let the fear consume you.

but it’s not the fear, i don’t think. it’s the longing for a joy that i only found outside, with you. with friends. with loved ones. especially with you, but i know it’s something i can find again. and i want it in my grasp. i know i can find it.

i meet someone new and i like his eyes, they’re tight together, two hazel friends across the bridge of his nose that hold my gaze. he looks at my lips and we walk and i can’t tell if he wants to touch me, so i don’t touch him. we don’t hug and i feel anxious, as usual, until i get a text, and then i still feel anxious until i go to bed. it’s the post-date validation that i can never read from a kinda-ok first date. the thing is, i didn’t think about you. i thought about the pain in my right shin, the scratchy undertone of his voice from years of nicotine, and if he was looking at my mouth because he wanted to kiss it or if i had something on my face. i lie in bed alone and wonder. and now i think of you.