Alone I feel,

Without me on your mind.


Full I feel,

With me in your eyes.


Myself I am,

With you I feel,

Without you I am, despite my feel.

The truth I know,

But do not feel,



Lying in the sand

When I was 13, I learned to mediate. I closed my eyes and pictured an empty beach, shiny blue waves, quiet white sand, waves receding and then rushing towards me, with every slow, drawn out and audible inhale and exhale, I listened intently, savoring the moments of total silence, upon fullness and emptiness in my lungs. I’d focus on the waves, stop my thoughts, drift asleep.

Some nights, I’d crave more. My fantasies would merge. I’d have with me, holding me, whoever it was, I was thinking of most often. I found my happy place.

I went to bed, I closed my eyes, I breathed, I listened, I pictured for eight years.

Sleeping with someone else in the bed can be hard. When you’re trying to be perfect, not shift an inch they might feel, not breathe so deeply they might hear. When they make you anxious, and you’re already anxious, sleeping with someone else is hard.

On spring break, anxiously awake at sunrise, I poked and begged and pleaded that he leave bed with me. He caved, left his contacts behind, and I eagerly dragged him down the street, around the corner, straight ahead and into my fantasy. We landed on the beach, laid down our towels, laid down our backs, and listened.

I was still anxious there, next to him. The waves weren’t as loud as I remembered. It was hard to listen. Eventually the sun was too hot. We got up. We returned to our real beds. We went home to our real lives in Massachusetts.

I tried to close my eyes and picture the beach. Picture the cute boy next to me. I can hear the waves, I think I’m approaching close enough to almost see them, but my heart races in the other direction, every time, every time I try now.



We did everything together, watched everything together, but somehow both didn’t mention to each other that we’d each found the time to binge a series called Love. Over dinner, his little brother’s girlfriend, who worked in the entertainment industry, asked if he was excited for the second season premiere; I guess he’d discussed it with her previously… he couldn’t even say the word to me.


A tragedy

When I was 16, I found myself with boyfriend. He was perfect, and we dated for two years until I got curious about the world and other potential boys I hadn’t met yet in college.

Then, several years later, when I decided he was still perfect, I tried to be with him again, but he smelled weird to me. I asked him if he’d showered, put on deodorant, brushed his teeth, chewed gum, all affirmative, all moments before I met him, but he smelled too weird to me to kiss.

What a sad fucking day. Alone with a potential love of my life, too grossed out to kiss him ever again.