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17 February 2010 @ 12:02 am
i've written pages upon pages trying to rid you from my bones  
for my birthday, you took me to the movies. this was a heartbreaking act. my birthday marked exactly one month since i'd moved back home. i know how that sounds. i'm young, and that was a stupid thing to do, living with you. i am always doing stupid things like that. no one can break my heart like i can. for a while, though, it was the most magical place i'd ever lived, and it wasn't stupid at all.

i remember the last time you kissed me. your birthday, three weeks later, you leaving my house promising to figure yourself out, promising me a thousand things i knew were a lie but i let myself believe them all just so i could keep breathing. it didn't matter, though. the day after that, the whole world changed, and then there were rules about kissing. rules like we can't do that anymore. i can't remember the way you taste, but i remember everything else. you might have taken a lot, but i have what you gave to me, too. don't forget that. neither one of us will return what was given. i have parts of you that you can never give away to anyone else, no matter how hard you try. i know this, because you tried to, but i still have them. i do.

anyway. we went to the movies for my birthday. things were hurting, but there was still so much false hope between us that we could have served it up, hot and sweet on a plate, and it would've reminded us of our grandmothers. you took me to see where the wild things are.

i took my lucky break and i broke it in two.

i cried. and i kept crying. you held my hand and after the movie was over i was still crying, and you held me standing by our seats until everyone else in the theater had left, and they were coming in to sweep up the popcorn. the wild things we saw were just so familiar, and i couldn't help it.

-

my birthday marked exactly one month since i'd moved back home.

but it was also my birthday. it was also the day i was born.

maybe that's the problem with all these memories. remembering things with you means removing as much of me as possible from the equation. even on my birthday. i can measure how huge you became for me by how little i make myself, but i wanted you to look at me and see. that's all, the entire time. just for you to look at me and understand what you were looking at. for you to look at me like you look at things you love, not things to devour. if i think about your eyes now, i am afraid, like i should have been.

the wild things on the screen were so familiar.
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