Dirty talk me with your heightened sense of vocabulary and exceptional grammar.
I’m on my knees for your cultural awareness and/or openness and unparalleled conversational skills.
Finish me off with your witty humor and your aptitude for kindness toward the people I love.
I’d be all yours, baby.
me when I tell myself I’m going to get work done.
it’s a play that I’m set designing that opens in January and it’s an extremely prominent motif in the script and the image of it just burns into me.
I’m thankful for that five minute window in time - from last night - when I thought of you and for once, felt absolutely nothing.
I hope that when this ends, you have a deep and echoing ticking in your heart that feels like the syllables in my name or how your name sounds when I used to say it. I hope it wakes you up in the middle of the night. I hope it keeps you up till dawn because you could not figure out how to silence it. I hope your memory of me sticks to you like a feverish cold sweat. I hope you feel ghost fingers run up your spine and wish I was there to keep you warm. I hope I haunt you.
I hope that everything reminds you of me and reminds you that you were never brave enough to choose me. I hope thinking about California reminds you of me. I hope any tiny bit of sunshine you get on a drab and cold day reminds you of me. I hope thinking about LA, Seattle, and Chicago remind you of me. I hope Hozier and Work Song remind you of me. I hope that cooking a meal for only one reminds you of me. I hope that painting and theatre and design remind you of me. I hope that poetry and word vomit remind you of me.
I hope that you see a girl with long black wavy hair pass you as you walk across the street and can’t figure out why you have the impulses to both chase her and hide from her. I hope the next girl you love will never understand why you sporadically look at your phone like you’re waiting for a lifeline. I hope that you need to steady your restless heart when you’re on your way home from work, knowing that you’re coming home to an empty apartment. I hope you regret the day you were too afraid to hear my laugh. I hope that when you think of the word “soulmate,” you’re too scared to say the first name that comes to mind. I hope anytime you hear a beautiful word in the English lexicon, a word that feels like a solid 10 on the scale of heightened vocabulary, that you get the itch to redefine what my name means to you.
I hope my name will always mean something to you.
I hope you never forget me like a scar from one of your best worst decisions. I hope that the next time you kiss a girl, she tastes like stale moonlight and lonely music. I hope I become your most insatiable craving.
I hope you’re reading this and understanding how angry I am that you exist in a world where I do not. I hope you know that I acknowledge that you are so smart for protecting your wild heart but absolutely foolish for trying to tame it. I hope you know that even I can never understand how I could be so cosmically in love with a phantom lover that governs so many earthquakes in my bones. I hope that the shaking stops one day.
I hope that is the day you let your heart run wild with reckless abandon, telling the universe of a girl you still love so deeply that your veins still know how to flow to only her.
And I will not be there to hear it.