if u can do liquid eyeliner u can do anything
In the room of everything I have lost
nobody is crying. There are boxes and boxes
of lipgloss, sunglasses and cellphones.
All my baby teeth are crushed into dust
on the floor. My virginity is around here somewhere
in a box marked “New Years Eve, 2008”
In the corner
Something hangs in the air like regret, or acceptance
or maybe some strange mix of both.
And of course in the room there is you.
I remember when you said you loved me.
Kissed me under a streetlight and said
“Of course I’ll never forget you. The rain in
your hair, how your mouth tastes like Marlboros
something about you burns in me. And all of it
sounded like a promise to save me.
I thought you could absolve me of my foolishness.
My nightmares. My glass skin. I thought you could
heal me. I could wash the plaster from your fists.
I’d always hated the word realistic. Or, more truthfully, I’d always hated the way people used the word realistic—as if it were a limitation, as if reality was something that conformed so severely to likelihood that surprising things could never, ever happen.
—David Levithan, Wide Awake (via anditslove)