He’s like a song she can’t get out of her head. Hard as she tries, the melody of their meeting runs through her mind on an endless loop, each time as surprisingly sweet as the last, like a lullaby, like a hymn, and she doesn’t think she could ever get tired of hearing it.

When you start to really know someone, all their physical characteristics start to disappear. You begin to dwell in his energy, recognize the scent of their skin. You see only the essence of the person, not the shell. That’s why you can’t fall in love with beauty. You can lust after it, be infatuated by it, want to own it. You can love it with your eyes and body but not your heart. And that’s why, when you really connect with a person’s inner self, any physical imperfections disappear, become irrelevant.

Whatever you felt last night, whatever needle was stitching its initials into your heart was felt by a hundred other hearts. Whatever growls in the darkest corner of your memory is a beast that others have fed. You are not the only person who feels ugly tonight. You are not the only person who can’t seem to find the right words until the conversation is over. Who doesn’t know what the fuck they’re doing on this carousel. Who cries for no reason or never cries or only cries when you feel like your life is finally standing still and you don’t know what to do when nothing is going wrong. It isn’t about always being happy. That shit is unhealthy.

Probably someone should take this girl in his arms and hold her tight, I thought. Probably someone other than me. Someone qualified to give her something.

Let someone love you just the way you are – as flawed as you might be, as unattractive as you sometimes feel, and as unaccomplished as you think you are. To believe that you must hide all the parts of you that are broken, out of fear that someone else is incapable of loving what is less than perfect, is to believe that sunlight is incapable of entering a broken window and illuminating a dark room.

Sometimes she did not know what she feared, what she desired: whether she feared or desired what had been or what would be, and precisely what she desired, she did not know.

Enjoy your body, use it every way you can. Don’t be afraid of it, or what other people think of it, it’s the greatest instrument you’ll ever own.

I’m never gonna wait
that extra twenty minutes
to text you back,
and I’m never gonna play
hard to get
when I know your life
has been hard enough already.
When we all know everyone’s life
has been hard enough already
it’s hard to watch
the game we make of love,
like everyone’s playing checkers
with their scars,
saying checkmate
whenever they get out
without a broken heart.
Just to be clear
I don’t want to get out
without a broken heart.
I intend to leave this life
so shattered
there’s gonna have to be
a thousand separate heavens
for all of my flying parts.

Be soft. Don’t let the world make you hard. Don’t let the pain make you hate. Don’t let the bitterness steal your sweetness. Take pride that even though the rest of the world may disagree, you still believe it to be a beautiful place.

Begin a relationship with a person who feels more ‘real’ than your high school sweetheart, whose words sound heavier and more trustworthy, whose touch feels more intentional. Keep your feet on the ground. In an attempt at full disclosure, ensure that he sees you at your absolute worst. Be honest. Approach love consciously, in real time. Do not drift. Do not write poetry. Use words like ‘solid’ instead of ‘dreamy.’ Consider the concept of semi-permanence. Linger, savor, know now that there is no rush. Use your past as a parachute, then discard with metaphors and, for the first time, love someone in concrete terms. Feel like you could maybe spend your life with this person. Mail your parents a 20th anniversary card and realize that you have no idea what that means, no concept of how much ‘spending a life’ costs. Love on a day-to-day basis instead. Build slowly. Learn that this is more than enough.

Leaving is not enough. You must stay gone. Train your heart like a dog. Change the locks even on the house he’s never visited. You lucky, lucky girl. You have an apartment just your size. A bathtub full of tea. A heart the size of Arizona, but not nearly so arid. Don’t wish away your cracked past, your crooked toes, your problems are papier mache puppets you made or bought because the vendor at the market was so compelling you just had to have them. You had to have him. And you did. And now you pull down the bridge between your houses, you make him call before he visits, you take a lover for granted, you take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are magic. Make the first bottle you consume in this place a relic. Place it on whatever altar you fashion with a knife and five cranberries. Don’t lose too much weight. Stupid girls are always trying to disappear as revenge. And you are not stupid. You loved a man with more hands than a parade of beggars, and here you stand. Heart like a four-poster bed. Heart like a canvas. Heart leaking something so strong they can smell it in the street.

I promise to plant kisses like seeds on your body, so in time you can grow to love yourself as I love you.

You need to figure out what you love and what you don’t, and place yourself in this world according to that, or you’re going to end up miserable no matter what city you’re in.

Trauma. It changes everything. After the moment of impact nothing is ever the same. You re-shape around the pain but you’re never the same. But maybe that’s okay, that things shift. Maybe they needed to shift. Because we could get stuck in one spot as one thing, one identity. But we’re not one thing. We’re never one thing. Not to ourselves and not to each other.