sometimes

i wonder

"would you just

be better off

with her?"

i mean

she's prettier

right

more successful

she's certainly more like you

she's just a friend

you tell me.

but why does she

hear your voice more

than i, the one you proclaim

is the love of your life?

maybe it's the crazy talking

but, babe,

it hurts

dear macbook,

in the two years i have owned you, i have not taken a single moment out of my day to thank you for all that you do. here you are, littered with hundreds of unfinished poems, stories, and prose; hours of netflix history, youtube videos, and meaningless facebook chatter, yet you still run on without protest.

most laptops would have lashed out in a fit of anguish by now--but you, trusty macbook, have remained true to me. you have shown me nothing but love and understanding. thank you for that.

i'm still gonna store hundreds more half-finished pieces on u tho

have you ever wondered

what happens to dreams

that we leave behind,

unaccomplished, unachieved, lonesome

dreams that we leave when we die?

have you ever wondered

what happens to the words

we write on paper, 

unspoken, unread,

when we throw them into the wastebasket?

what about the words

we almost said

but we bit our tongues

because we were too afraid to utter them

and of their consequences.

I arrive at Indigo, get my coffee, and start walking toward my little corner. This corner, which I have now claimed as my own, has been my study area of choice. I feel like I get the most work done here, so every day I have hopped on the bus and made the fifteen minute trip to Indigo. As I walk, I pass bookshelves upon bookshelves, tempted to pick up a book and start reading it—but I don’t. I must reach my corner. My cozy little corner, where I surround myself with books and exam review notes as I type away on my laptop. And then I see her — the same girl from yesterday who had claimed MY spot as HER own. She sits there smugly, nestled in MY corner. I fall to my knees, tears welling up, threatening to overflow and streak down my face. I get up, pull myself together and disappointedly walk back from where I came, searching for another, less-than-adequate spot where I will spend my studying today. This is not over. 

it's weird how life works.

how one minute you think you're in love

then that person crushes your heart

and twists the shards into shredded skin.

and just as you've recovered

another walks in and claims your heart

you can't help but remember the one

who ripped your life apart.

but he assures you

"i'm not him, allison" 

and sure enough

he's not.