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#excerpt from a book i'm writing

may 26, 2020

i can’t feel your heartbeat anymore. you’ve made it impossible for me to touch you. our hands don’t fit the way they do. i know someone else has been holding you close. my bed has been slept on by another body. the sheets are warm but i am not there to indulge myself in it. i know when you close your eyes you don’t think of me. i know it’s her you dream of when you’re asleep. that’s alright. i know this love will fall away gently.


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the weather forecast says it will snow all day so there is no point in going outside. every corner in the city will be blanketed with the heavy white powder. the sun will hide so the powder won’t melt. we are doomed to stay inside for a whole day, so we get prepared the previous night. he sets up his computer on the small table of our small kitchen, closes all the windows in the apartment making sure the cold won’t get in, or so that the heat can stay in. he pulls out more and more blankets from the closet, cuddles my toes with the smallest one. “your feet get cold”, he remembers out loud, as if somehow i have forgotten how my own body works. but he does that: remembers of the little mechanisms that keep me awake and tries to eliminate them by putting things around them. the heat is inside our apartment and inside our bed. i will sleep warm and sound. he knows this.

when the smell of coffee mixed with lavender wakes me up, i don’t know what time it is. it could be morning, everything is sour and burned,  hot and earthly. every morning here smells like mellow coffee beans; a smell that makes every color in the apartment turn suddenly darker. the white walls are now bathed in sunlight so they are a soft beige. the pink curtains are now sodden in wine. the old greyish sweatshirt i sleep in is now a mirror of the night sky. i’m not sure how can a smell turn everything into something else, but believe me, it can. 

but the lavender is also here. so it could be the middle of the afternoon, that glimpse of sun sneaking into every room through the curtains making every piece of furniture aware of itself through it’s shadows, as if saying: this is you when you let yourself be touched by light. here, we know it is that time of the day, because we burn a bundle of sage and lavander, parading it around the apartment. we started doing it because we didn’t like the smell of wet walls, how the paint began to crack, the corners began to darken. we chose lavender because i liked the color and he liked the smell. they call it the golden hour, we renamed it the lilac time. 

so it can be any hour of the day. out the window it all looks null, everything is the same, so i don’t know. he is sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. out the corner of my eye, i can see the sage and lavander burning. “what time is it?” i ask. “does it matter?” he says, “we have to stay in.” and he is right. i don’t need to know the time because i have nowhere to go, except the kitchen chair in front of him, except the corner in the kitchen where the coffee pot is still hot. 

he tells me about an old highschool classmate who announced on instagram that he is going to be a dad. “it’s crazy, don’t you think?” maybe the part that is crazy is that this one classmate doesn’t look like a dad, or maybe it’s the fact he announced it on instagram, or maybe the part where people are having completely different lives than we are. but we are here. and the world outside has been put at a halt. nobody asked us if we agreed. the sun just went away.

but why do i need the sun? why do i need to know time? if all i need is coffee and lavander. and what is coffee and lavander if not the man i love? the world can cease to exist as long as i can live inside this apartment. as long as i can be cuddled in this place where everything has come together to give me my little piece of god. this, this for me, is being inside of god. because what is god if not creating a space where color and scent can give me a different light? what is god if not giving me a different life than all the other people? what is god if not the man i love eliminating time and everything else, to give me what i enjoy the most? what is god if not love? what is love if not this man? 

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Two years, and the composition, I feel, is still not long -

Enough words have brought me -

Tears, to me, are now familiar -

Feelings in last lines we tried to convey, I feel, are now lacking -

Love is still the only thing I ask of you.

- you forbade me to learn music.

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Everyday, I arrive at the same stone-like gate.

There are doors I am used to knocking on.

There are metal creaks of hinges I am used to hearing.

The creaks are still familiar sounds.

The door is still a door.

The gate is still a stone-like gate.

The house is still a house, though it isn’t home anymore.

I honestly don’t what is.

- home.

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I do not hate you for being an unexpected storm.

I do not hate myself for not bringing an umbrella.

But I do hate the way my boots filled with rain water as you stood there dry.

I hate the way the wind will eventually sweep the dark clouds away,

and you will move with it.

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Alexa Evangelista, the book I’ll never finish writing
I wonder what’s going to happen between us. Even though everything is good I still wonder if we’re going to make it. Everyone tells me that you’re the one, and I’ll be a fool to say otherwise. I think you are the one too. Your eyes carry sunshine and the stars in them. When you look at me the dead roses inside my mind come back to life. You make me appreciate life. Before you I didn’t know that the graveyard inside my mind could turn into a field of flowers. I might not tell you how much I appreciate you all of the time. I’m just not that type of person. But please just know that you’re the reason why my heart started to breathe.
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Beachwood is quiet. Not the cozy quiet everyone initially thinks, but the deafening silence of a town gone mad, plagued with disaster and sickness yet still alive and breathing. The mindless living that only accompanies an event too unnatural, too vile to handle. It’s the grasps of winter holding onto spring two weeks longer before finally letting it slip through his fingers while flowers bloom.

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This Feeling

How am I supposed to go on?

I fight everyday

I kick,

I yell,

I scream.

Yet you don’t hear me

You stand there in silence

Acting like everything was fine

You pretended to love me

You pretended to care.

Everything you said to me,

You lied.

I don’t know why,

But I can’t hate you

I still love you,

Despite what you’ve done to me

I’m told I should be mad

I should be this,

Or I should be that.

But the truth is,

I’m not.

I still love you.

And now everyday

I have to go on with my life,

And I have to fight the love I have,

I have to fight myself,

I will always have to fight

This feeling

- [Holly Forsman]

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nothing apart from this idea that warmth is this statue of swears to a hurt that is money in papers of areas that i’ve despised, i am in this backbite of who does not go down this deep, this holy hill as i climb for this sense of heat that fills my portion of maintaining pleasant places, i am a heart that is glad, i am a trying figure and i will fight past this idea that i would rather be cold then eat my knowledge of what it’s like to dine alone in a place full of fire pits

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Is it truly enough that we love each other? Yes, it is important that we love each other, but we must not stop at feeling alone. We must say something. We must do something. We must love each other actively. I will always hold you in my thoughts so dearly, but what does it matter to you if I don’t treat you like it.

It does not have to be grandiose. It does not have to be a big declaration with all the bells and whistles. You do not have to buy me the most flowers to show me how much you love me. It can be, but it is not the minimum. Do not exhaust yourself in order to love someone.

It can be the littlest of actions. We tag each other in posts that remind us of each other or think the other might like. We avoid things that upset the other and warn each other when they are present. We wish each other a goodnight and a good rest.

We can just exist together. Call me so we can sit in silence together, doing seperate activities at the same time. Invite me somewhere so we can occupy the same space. Point out the sky to me so we can look at the same moon.

These are all, though small, examples of actively loving someone. Don’t silence your love for others. Even if you can’t love as actively as you want to, show the tiniest bit of it. Our relations are fuelled by love, please don’t hurt yourself by keeping your love and yourself away from others.

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for those nights i couldn’t stay in my mind, the questioning, as i ramble about a numbness only i can feel, there’s this standard in my head as i try to understand myself, i lose myself in my head sometimes, i try to keep up but i always take ten steps back trying to reach the end of the stereo but it’s all in my imagination

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