athousandreasons

years  from now you will suddenly think, my god, she was right. there are two kinds of people in this world: those who are worth waiting for, and those who don't.

love is patient. love is kind. love is knowing his favorite brand of beer. love is not minding when she stops wearing the pretty matching sets of pajamas to bed. love is letting him be the little spoon sometimes. love is holding her hair back when she's had one too many margaritas at the office Christmas party. love is not minding that her showers take longer than yours. love is not saying anything when he wears his favorite shirt two days in a row. love is generous. love is letting him have the last cookie. love is remembering how much she loves Thai food. love always trusts. love always hopes. love is knowing she'll come home

never had you held me so tightly, never did I ever feel so dear to you, as just before you walked away. the dresses you never saw me in still hang in the closet. you never woke up to smell the crisp, cold rain drifting in the window. this was never how the world was supposed to be, but I do the best with the days I have.

we walked the city by night. we rode the waves of sound, held up by nothing but traffic lights and the night air. we walked and we laughed like we didn't care. but we couldn't have cared more. and that is how we lost it.

nearly six months ago and almost to the day you took me by surprise. your smile was familiar, but the sensation of smiling back wasn't.   I wanted to curl up tightly in your warm, safe laugh, drive through the night, wasn't looking back. - this morning was dark and crisp. the windows were open and the cold crept in with the smell of old rain. there was coffee. there was traffic. there was morning. and that is all. - the first time we slept together, I awoke in the middle of the night to find my hand held tight in yours. my light hair, your dark tangled against each other. sleepy, half-drunk yin-yang. I was too content to s

I cannot remember the exact day when I stopped smiling at the boys and laughing at their teasing jokes, stopped wearing skirts with a purpose and heels like razor blades. I don't know when I started finding reason to fear, to press my lips together and cast my eyes down. maybe somewhere along the way I learned that a good girl does not mind waiting around. she pushes thoughts of passion away. she does not ask anything in return. maybe in time I gave up the dream of a boy with a voice like Picard and arms like James Dean, who walks like Cash and kisses like heaven. maybe I grew up too much too soon. maybe I'm tired. and, baby, I a

1. the day my grandmother died I watched the election. I tried my hardest to care, but I didn't really, just then. I turned it off and went to bed. 2. the morning after, the mist covered the field so thick I couldn't see the other side, even from the top steps. I would have given anything to just go step out into that mist and walk and walk and just disappear. 3. I pressed the phone to my ear, and listened to the voicemail over and over and over: I love you honey. honey, I love you. I love you. I am here. 4. I heard the crunching of leaves and felt the warm fall breeze. I rolled the windows down and let the waves of t

there is no such thing as 'forever' or 'always.' retreating back home doesn't always help fix the hurt. hydrate, hydrate, hydrate. you will feel guilty when you someday hate the person you once loved. go easy on yourself. freedom is exciting, but also very lonely. in the event of a pregnancy scare - remain calm; it's most likely just stress. you will be surprised by how much you will change. assholes may hurt you, but nice guys hurt worse. nobody will misunderstand you quite like family. never give all of yourself away; when he leaves, you'll never get it back. find joy in the little things. they're really all we have. those bru

the bravest thing I ever did was to wake up in the morning and get up and get ready and go out to face each day. and I smiled like I didn't know that you didn't love me anymore. and I answered all your calls like I didn't know you didn't want me around anymore. and I never once let anybody know how hard it was to keep breathing, keep speaking, keep living. when I told you that all my poems were coming out angry and bitter, you said: that's usually the way it goes.

drive around your old hometown for the last time at night during a storm. roll the windows down. let the rain in. as the lightening flashes, remember the good times. with the thunder, let go of the bad. - there's so much you will never be able to tell your mother. sometimes you really want to, but you know she won't be able to handle it. she will never be able to read any of the poems you write. please don't feel like it's your fault. - someday you will pick up a poetic bad habit, like smoking mediocre cigarettes with an expensive lighter. you will find someone who doesn't mind that you lost a lot of weight and don't have any boobs left.