Overdue Eviction Notice

This isn't poetic, or full of metaphors, or even very beautiful. It's honest though. (Which I think makes it pretty beautiful.)

Here's what I don't know: whether or not you'll be reading this. Which makes it just a little bit harder to write. (Because I don't know how you'll take any of it.) You're tentative, I know. I've had about three people tell me that now. But I think that's what I like most right now. 

Here's the thing. I've finally decided that I don't care what I say because, I mean, you should know, probably. You're really good at making me worry, but not really in a bad way.

I like the little things, like the way you kiss the yellow lights and drive while you hold my hand. I like the way my forehead gets touched by your lips a lot and I love when you turn our show on when we cuddle.

We argue sometimes, but only about dumb things or because neither of us will make a decision. Sure, I want you to get mad at Josh (or at me because of Josh) sometimes, but I know you just don't want to be mean. I get jealous of Tyler a lot, but we'll talk about that later.

Here's to lunches, and dates, and never not smelling like chlorine. Here's to our best friends at the pool. 

We can see the stars tonight. Remember that? I wished you didn't have to go running that night. You told me once that you didn't want me to go and said, "Can't you just be a little bit late?" The world is smaller than what that meant to me.

I like when you let go of your worries and just say the things that are on your mind. I think you have a hard time opening up, and that's why it only happens sometimes.

I get afraid that you're going to run away because sometimes I need you, and sometimes I want to be needed by you, but I don't know of that's okay with you. If it is, hold one eye open and close the other.

Here's to your art, and your handwriting. 

I hope that what I said on your birthday didn't bother you. I know I like you more than you like me, but for now, that's okay. I think I handle it pretty well. I like how you always asked me to come with you places because those places needed both of us--I think.

We're funny, and we're good looking and we could probably rule the world, one boba at a time.

You're a really good teacher, and you just want to make people happy. You aren't afraid of your sarcasm but I think you're a little bit afraid of disappointing the ones you care about most. You're independent, really independent. You'll be there when I get injured because of birds. It'll happen, darling, and you'll be there. You're smart enough to know what you want, but also your mind is open to what may be placed in front of you to try. Maybe like me? I know you don't like surprises, but I think I was a little bit of one.

Keep smelling good and being concerned about what you're wearing. Thanks for liking me even though I was awkward at first.

I love your family and that you share them with me. I love Tyler and Shelly, and Patty, too. (probably not as much as you do, but you know.) I love the days we didn't leave each others sides and the day my fingers were in between yours all day. I like that sometimes I bother you because then I know it's real. That's such a cliche thing to say, but that word just wears me out. I love the amount of time we spent with Rachel and I love when you grab me from behind. I love the amount of movies we have watched. (Thanks Shelly.)

Here's to shopping, and car rides, and Tex, and laughing and cat stretching. Here's to the amount of time we've spent in your living room and the amount of money we've spent of frozen yogurt. Here's to hoping this wasn't too much for you to take in. Here's to these last seven days.

"Up yours." because "Wow bud, that's really cool."

A Lap Pool and an Anatomically Correct Heart

It shouldn't sting like this. I shouldn't care what your opinion is, but I do let my bad days effect me.

Honey, I've had a hell of a year, and at this point letting my bad days effect me is the least of my worries. Sure, it's hard to hear, but at least I'm still HERE, and for that I'm proud of myself. I'm proud that I've held on. I almost slipped today. Again.

You've hurt me, you've scarred me, and you've broken me, but I'm not letting it happen anymore. I'm stronger than that. Because, like Shelbie tells me, I see colors differently because I wear them differently.

I think God places people with his own two hands right down in front of me to purposely drive me to the point of insanity, or maybe drive me to Him. I think it's probably both.

You told me once, just once, that I was beautiful, but I know it was just to manipulate me into getting what you want. You've never said it again, and if I ask *awkward pause* you change the subject usually into how cute the other girls are; like my best friend. Thanks, bud.


But, you keep me just a little bit on edge, and just a little bit interesting. Like hiking after dark, maybe? No, that makes me think of someone else. Maybe like drinking iced coffee at midnight, or staying out past curfew. Yeah, like those things, or maybe even worse, but I don't like to think about that. 


Here's the thing bud, you care. I know that you care just enough for it to matter, just enough for it to hurt, or I guess feel. You've taught me more about myself than I knew could be learned, and part of that's a good thing. Thanks, bud. 


I don't know what I want to say at this point because you make my head spin like nobody before. Like the spin cycle on the washing machine kind of. I don't have any good similes/metaphors for you tonight.


But, for now, hold my fingers like you do, and stay in that passenger seat. Keep your palms callused, your eyelashes long and your shoulders square. It'll be okay soon. I'll stop making up nonsense, and you'll start wishing I was closer. 




Here's to You.


Yes, You.


Enduringly,
M.Organ

Hello, I'm in Delaware

This is about a lot of things and I'm sorry that I'm not sorry that it is a mess.

It's funny because everyone keeps saying things like, "What do you have to lose?" When really, I have everything to lose. Listen to me. I just want you to listen even if it just means once.

I didn't want this to be about you, but that's all that will come out. I don't want to let the other things come out because they scare me. We don't speak very often, but when we do, you tell me, "It's easy," and that you don't regret that.

Remember?

I clung because I couldn't loosen my firm grip; it felt good to have numb fingers

Sometimes I want to yell profanities, but I stop myself because I know you'd be disappointed. I wish you could taste the emotion behind my words. I wish I could see you cry. In the back of my head I'm saying, "Morgan, let go," and, "stop." but my skin says to hold on because you're supposed to be close. I think it's because you hold God's hand.

You scare me. You scare me to the point of exhaustion and maybe even giving up. You scare me to where I don't want to give up because I'm feeling something from you. I hope I get to see your alphabet on small lines with a date in the corner and envelops that smell like Tampa.

Connor, I'm sorry that I become dependent, but I don't want to do it wrong anymore; I care about your opinion.

I remember the day I met you, and the day I met Addy, and Kristen, and Teddy, and Davis, and Chandi, and Eliza, and Krista, and the day I met Kolten. I won't remember the date, you can count on that. I won't remember what you were wearing,--Millie may, though--either, but I'll remember you. I'll remember what I thought, and what I felt. 

When I met you I said, "We're going to know each other." The day I met Addy I said, "Here, I drew this picture for you." She said, "I'm going to write you a note." That note was about Dakota and loving boys; she asked about me. Now I know what the inside of her heart looks like, "Everybody else's." The inside of her journal is different, though; eloquent.

I told you, "We are equal; very equal." When what I meant to say was, "You are just a little bit closer to heaven than I am, but that forces me to put me above me and maybe study a little bit more and maybe pray a little bit more and maybe sing a few more songs out loud." Is that saying too much? I never say the right amount of words.

I don't love you, yet. 

--Morga.n