1. |
this is how it starts
01:49
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This is how it starts. Not in the best of times, but the darkest; with an ascent far above the treetops and a conversation no one else can hear; with texts that fly until 5am across states and time zones.
This is how it starts. Not with an elaborate date, but with a pack of Oreos and talk of fake boyfriends, with difficult breakups and foggy days.
This is how it starts. With shared pursuits, yes, but also with a quiet moment together late at night that somehow feels stolen; with questions about the homework I didn't need answered; with hesitant hellos and hopeful goodbyes.
This is how it starts: with a commitment to letting myself fall despite the long way down, to showing someone the parts of me I think are special...
...and hiding all of that from the world until I am sure.
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2. |
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Some days, I like to think I saw you coming, even though I know that's a lie. There were maybes, could-have-beens, moments of "maybe if I'd been ready." But they lived in that corner of my mind of impossible dreams, of maybe somedays, of moments of "if I ever get the chance." But time and space are not kind, so I guarded my heart.
Some days, I know I could have seen you coming, because when I was watching you, you gazed back. There was laughter and the odd late night; there were moments where you'd give me a piece of yourself like I was supposed to have it all along. But you lived with the impossible dreams, the maybe somedays, the "if I ever have the chance"s. And time and space are not kind, so I guarded my heart.
I've never been the kind of girl who's courted and swept off her feet. The only loves I've had have been the ones I fought for. And maybe that's why the dreams stayed dreams for so long.
Some days, I know I should have seen you coming. Because you're a dreamer among the impossible dreams. My could-have-beens are your might-bes; my maybes are your probablys. And there are still moments where you give me a piece of yourself like I was supposed to have it all along. And time and space are not kind, so I'm sending a piece of me with you.
Some days, I like to think I saw you coming. Because now I listen to this one song over and over and over, and the only thing I can match it with is you.
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3. |
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I miss you the most when I'm here. Standing at the curb, duffel in hand, promising, "it won't be so long next time." And, for a minute, I mean it; and, for a split second, I believe it. But we both know it's never that easy. And you grab your duffel. And you disappear through security. And I miss you.
I miss you the most when I'm here. Lying in bed, phone in hand, promising, "soon, love. Soon." And, for a minute, I imagine it's true; and, for a minute, I can feel you beside me. But we both know it's never that simple. And I say my goodnights to an empty room. And I put my phone back on the charger. And I miss you.
I miss you the most when I'm here. Standing in line, boarding pass in hand, promising, "I can't wait to see you." And, for a minute, I hear your smile through the phone, because sometimes, the countdown does hit zero. And I hang up, because it's finally time. "Now boarding for Sky Harbor...."
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4. |
all but impossible
06:03
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Somehow, I've never been afraid to love you. Maybe my heart's always known. Even when I saw your weird, your quirky, some part of me took notice and said, "that one. That one matters." And even when I couldn't let myself believe that, it was a beacon, a point without question.
Somehow, I've always known I should love you. Maybe your smile's always told me. Even when I saw your detached, your aloof, your cool, some corner of my heart perked up and said, "that one. That one belongs here." And even when it seemed all but impossible, it was a heartbeat, an insistent pulse I couldn't quite shake.
I'm not one for big declarations. I'm not one for promises I don't know I can keep. But you deserve worlds and planets, so I'll say this: I don't know if I believe in forever, but I believe in you.
Somehow, I've never been afraid to love you. Somehow, I've always known I should.
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5. |
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Stars. One, two, three, then six! Eight! Ten! Millions. And then, an open door. Light. And we're back to one.
We're on the outskirts, away from all the lights, and... stars. One, two, five, six, maybe a dozen. One falls, but then, a car. Light. And we're back to a handful.
We're in the city, and - let's not even start.
Six months go by, and we're finally away. And it's dark. Finally.
One, two, three, six, eight, ten... millions.
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6. |
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I never know what to say to you.
Not because there's nothing there,
but because I want to tell you everything at once.
And so the words are jumbled, always,
because this is a triumph and this is a defeat
and this is a puzzle and this is a discovery.
And what I really mean is, "I'm so happy you're here."
And what I really mean is, "the world feels right again."
And what I really mean is, "here's all of me."
And you take it all in and you smile,
and you don't say all of me is too much.
I never know what to say to you.
Not because you don't listen—you always listen—
but because every so often you sit your heart next to mine
and reach in for the things I can't quite articulate.
Because I've gotten from point A to point B and I don't know how,
but somehow you asking helps me put the map together.
And what it tells me is, "look back, but don't stay there."
And what it tells me is, "look how far you've come."
And what it tells me is, "look at you fly."
And you take it all in and you smile,
because searching doesn't scare you.
I always swore I'd write you a song—on purpose, that is.
You've ended up in a lot of them accidentally.
And what that means is, "I hear you."
And what that means is, "I remember you."
And what that means is, "there is a space for you here."
Even if I've never told you.
Because I never really know what to say to you, in the end.
It's always the things you say to me that shift the universe.
And I will keep one conversation fresh in my mind,
the one where I learned there was room for me here.
And I will keep another conversation close to my heart,
the one where I learned you could fall in love with me.
And I will bookend them with the conversation that broke my heart,
the one where I learned you almost would've let yourself.
And I will stop telling myself this isn't the kind of thing that belongs in my music, because
I can't not put you in my music.
And if the rest of the world figures it out, so be it.
And if the secret gets out that I can be hurt, so be it.
Because you're my amen, and if the prayer ends, so be it.
The words are jumbled. The universe shifts.
I never know what to say to you.
And you take it all in, and you smile.
And you stay.
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7. |
this is how it ends
02:10
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This is how it ends. Not with a bang, but with a whispered confession too long past bedtime. With an acknowledgment that sometimes we can love too much and too little. That sometimes loving me and loving you lie in opposite directions.
This is how it ends. Not with a shout, but with the click of hanging up the phone for the last time. With a promise to be truer to ourselves, to chase the things that make us come alive.
This is how it ends. With tears, yes, but also with clarity of mind and direction. With a promise of building something new together, even if it looks different.
This is how it ends: with a commitment to myself to love more fiercely in even more ways. To take my greatest weakness and make it my strength.
Here it goes....
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Eris DeJarnett Washington
Interdisciplinary narrative artist working with music, text, and movement currently based in the Pacific Northwest. I write
a lot of music about relationships between people, both positive and traumatic. ey/they.
erisdejarnett.com
... more
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