an entry that should probably stay in my journal

but i think i'll heal better this way

and so i’ll try to feel alive as much as possible as i stare at the ruins of who you once were to me.

i’ll bike around the lake on hot nights, stopping to lie in the grass and stare at the darkening sky with my heart pounding in my head and face burning with heat and adrenaline. i’ll flip off houses with trump flags hanging from their roof or sticking up from their gardens like i’m sixteen again. i’ll cool off by skinny dipping at dusk in the water we’ve spent eons floating in discussing films watched, songs listened to and recipes tried. i’ll shower in the dark and use matches to light candles with short wicks and almost burn my fingers as the flame dances up the wood.

i’ll continue to listen to the music we loved together, not because i miss you, but because it belongs only to me now; reclaiming your midwest emo and shoegaze.

my skin is slick and my hair is pink. im nineteen now, an age you’ve never witnessed me as, never known me to be.

i spent so many years with you as the center of my universe. you dominated every conversation and i let you, because it was you, the sun. a dog on a leash, waiting for you; heel, sit, speak, beg.

but i am my own sun, the still point of my ever-turning world, while you will remain stagnant.

and though i am reminded of you getting into my car, driving down the streets in my hometown where our hands hung out of my windows, ordering from the new drink menu at the local coffee shop, walking down the aisles of the thrift store you used to work at and in the quiet moments in the mornings where the birds chirping are the only noises in the world, in protest of you and your ornery words, i will remain gentle and warm.

and i hope you’re doing well.