22 hours ago
225/365. The seventh diary entry I’ve locked up in the floorboard.
I want to kiss you so hard that you forget where your mouth has been. I want my teeth to peel over your lips like furled paint, my jaw to dig into your cheekbones like sod covering old soil, my lipstick to stain your neck like red wine. I want you to forget what her name sounds like splintering your lips like my porch step splintering your hands like my fingernails splintering your thighs like paper cuts. And when you leave, I want to think of him. I want to think of my past and burn it in my stable palms, letting the ashes fall between my weary fingers. I want you to wake up tired, scrubbing my face away like leftover makeup. I want you to drown the strands of hair I left in your bathroom sink in the drain just to find them buried in your sheets, on your bedroom floor, in your car, on the roof of your mouth. I want you to give up and give in. You won’t tell me you’re sorry and I won’t cry when I let you back into my bed. I’ll let you kiss my eyelids open like the sheepish smiles of two people waking up next to the person they love and you will burn love notes into my skin with cigarettes even though we know that’s not what this is. Some people are not made of love, they are made of lessons, and I will touch every inch of your lecture. We will hold each other like maps, hoping we are what someone is searching for. But for now, we kiss each other so hard as to never forget we are desirable to someone, even if they are not the one. at Los Angeles, California