A girl shouldn’t have to wait up until 11pm on Valentine’s Day and hold her pillow while standing up to mimic human contact, and cry quietly until 12am because she remembers what he smelled like. A girl shouldn’t have to feel uncomfortable at the touch from another human being; like a handshake or a hug from her parents. -The things you told me, I’ll take to my grave. The memories I’ll cherish forever. The pain I feel will linger, but the love I feel for you will never die. The chaos, the pain, the stinging words that used to be so heartfelt and gentle, the cold, cracked hearts. It’s all unforgettable. The music. The lights. The laughter. Our wide smiles hidden behind hands or hoods. The paintings. The photographs, the blood, the heartfelt sacrifices and last minute, hastened goodbyes. The chances taken and the lives almost lost. The words never said, but were tucked in between other words. The poetry never published. To the point where I still shower but I hate it because you were waiting behind the red curtains. To the point where I can’t even stand to look at myself anymore because you saw too much of me. To the point where I want to punch the living hell out of your beautiful face, but I know I’d just butterfly my fingertips down your cheekbone. To the faces I cannot remember and the names I can’t remember and dare not speak of. When you left, my toothbrush was red from scrubbing my teeth and my tongue; trying to scrape your name out of my mouth. I cried till I vomited in the shower water that froze my body; three times. Old, shattered memories come to me in the form of old friend’s faces, and they ghost their arms around me on my cold nights under my string lights of stars. I live in a silent pain, moving but not actually doing anything, like a street mime in New York. Nobody can hear my begging, or hear my whispered pleas to be loved, a plea for the most gentle kiss; for acceptance. Maybe I’m just meant to leave pieces of myself behind with people I’ve met. I fall in love with people that pass me on the streets, or in love with the artwork in a shop’s windows. I wake up at 2am, crying, and sometimes I sit up in the dark quickly, as if I heard a baby crying or as if I heard someone beside me; or I write poetry with my wilting fingers. Maybe I’ll be alone forever, maybe I’m not meant to hear my husband’s voice read to my baby at bedtime. Or maybe I’m not meant to live as I so badly wish to. There are so many rules, so many chains and requirements. Maybe I’m just meant to have people wink at me in public and lust after me. Most of the time I feel like all I can do is just give, and give and give, and not get anything in return because that’s how it’s supposed to be with me. I have had many quick, affairs in my drunken sins that pooled into my brain. I have met many who have had major everlasting impacts on me. This kind of pain, this; this aching is not something I would wish upon any soul. I feel as if it is a eternal curse with twisted miracles. Anyone who reads this, If you have a wife or husband, I beg of you please, kiss them goodnight. Talk to them about their favorite book or movie. Let them have their little crush on that actor. Let them suck on your fingers in the shower for comfort, but not sexually. Whenever they stare out the window blankly, or look straight through you, or say nothing for the day, do not be hasty, I beg, Please take them in your arms, take them to bed and lay with them in the most innocent way, hold them like a small child, cradle them to your heartbeat until they come back to you. I beg, please tell your wife or husband that you love them. Kiss their sandwich after you make it for their lunch. Leave little “I love you’s” notes in their shoes, on the mirror, in her makeup bag, or taped around his old spice deodorant. Because once you slip, once you let go and not say what needs to be said, or do the little things that need to be done, you will lose them, things will turn to dust. And believe me, your bones will break, your heart will cry and send memories through your blood with every thump, like poison in your veins. Take a moment to put her pretty hair behind her ear. Take a moment to hug him from behind. Silence in the presence of love is the loudest silence of all. If any of you can assist me in any way with what I have written, I will accept any comments or suggestions.