i’m just here, watching some dude fumble god’s plan with a “nah i’m good” ✨🙏🎲

word.

obsessed?
nah.
i just remember shit
accurately.

i write about this
painful-ass bullshit
because
i want to remember.
i write so
i don’t fucking
gaslight myself later.
because—that shit?
was the real
fucking
thing.

baby,
i’m just here,
watching god
slowly revoke the favor.

lol.
i'm not embarrassed.
i'm fucking irritated.
i'm goddamn vexed
that i even
have to feel
the embarrassment.
because what?
i loved someone?
i meant it?
i didn’t fucking fake it
like everybody
else out here
on dating apps
trying to trauma-fuck
each other until
they forget their parents?

nah.
i’m the villain
because i fucking remember.

because
i remember
what it felt like
to wake up
in arms
that didn’t feel
fucking performative.
arms
that held me
like they were
worried i’d disappear.
like you
couldn’t get
close enough.
because you were
already obsessed
and didn’t know
what to do with it.

i remember
what it felt like
to be loved like
something fucking rare.
to wake up
next to someone
who couldn’t stop
fucking touching me
like he was
still trying
to convince himself
i was goddamn real.
babe,
i’m crying over
the way we laughed
for no fucking reason,
the way you sat
in the goddamn grass
and watched me
like it was
the most important thing
in the fucking world.
the way you
stood in front of me
like, “i got it,”
even when
we both knew
you didn’t.

i miss that.
not you.
you’re long gone.
the second
you picked
chaos over clarity?
dead to me.

but the love?
the way it felt?
that shit lives
in my fucking spine.
in my throat.
in the way
i size up every man
after you
and they all
fall fucking flat.

not because
you were that special
because safety was.

but somehow
i'm the one
who has to feel ashamed?
for remembering that?
for remembering
the dogs flying,
me = busting my fucking ass
while you’re skateboarding—
fast as fuck,
smiling big as hell,
cruising by
to save me
from my fucking self?
for remembering
the days—
you randomly
fucking had to
teach me how
to climb a goddamn tree?
because babe—
you
downright
needed
to show me
how the latest gear worked.
duh.
(babe, i wanted to know—i loved that shit)
for remembering
how it felt when i was
re-learning
how to fucking rollerblade
while you held my hand,
and we died laughing?
dog racing down the street
fast as fuck
behind us?
yup—
like we were in some
shitty-ass romantic music video,
and for a second
i thought,
holy shit—
maybe this
is what it feels like
to not be scared?

how it feels,
when someone
really loves you?

it fried my goddamn brain.

like—
what even
is this feeling?

but nope.
now i’m a weirdo
for holding onto that?
for not chucking
that shit out
like trash
from a man
who never meant
shit to me?

hey—

fuck off.

you were
not some guy i dated.
you were
a goddamn frequency.
a coded fucking memory
that hits
like fucking lightning
through my nervous system
when shit gets too quiet.

and the part
that fucking haunts me?
you made it
look so fucking easy
to throw that shit away.
like you
never even tripped.
like
i was crazy
for ever thinking
it meant fucking anything.
like i made it all up
in my fucked-up dumb little head.

nah.

whatever.
you wanted that shit.
you asked for it.
you started it.
you came back for it.

and now?
you wanna ghost me
like i’m some random?
bro.
i know your fucking mom.
don’t play with me.

you don’t get
to make me feel
fucking crazy—
when i’m the one
who gets to witness
the fucking look in your eyes
every time
you goddamn see me.

like it’s a fucking miracle.
(fuck.)

yo, idc.
i’m not hung up on you.
you died the minute
you chose whatever—
instead of us,
over and fucking over.
nah.
i’m hung up
on what it felt like
to be safe.
to be held.
to not
have to survive
every second
of my fucking day
fucking alone.

you think
i’m obsessed?
no.
i’m fucking scarred.

shit is traumatizing.

and if
i ever get
that feeling back
from someone real,
someone who fucking shows up—
it’ll be
your fucking shame
to carry.
not mine.

so no.
fuck off.
i’m not embarrassed.
i’m not obsessed.
i’m the only one
who fucking remembered
the goddamn truth.

because nah—
i don’t want you back.
i want the feeling back.
the kind where
i don’t have to fucking flinch.
the kind where
i don’t have to explain
that i’m a lot
because i’ve survived a lot.

where i’m not
fucking auditioning
to be safe.

so i guess,
if anyone’s reading this—
public service announcement:
i’m not posting
because
i’m fucking anguished.
no.
i’m not spiraling
because i’m
still “hung up.”
that ain’t it.
i’m documenting
a fucking extinction.
i’m grieving
a species of love
that almost no one
has ever even fucking seen.

that’s why
i won’t downgrade.

and that?
that makes me
deeply fucking sad.

so yeah,
fuck it—
stalk me.
laugh at me.
label me fucking gripped,
“crazy,”
“too much.”
because,
let’s be honest:
you always needed
me to be
the villain
to excuse
your fucking absence.

but just know—
while you’re out here
trying to
forget what we had,
i’m out here
trying to find it again.
not in you.
in someone who can
fucking handle it.

so no.
i’m not crying for you.
i’m crying for the little girl
who finally knew
what it felt like
to be safe—
and then lost it.

and had to build
the refuge
entirely all alone
all fucking over again.
and still
got up
and fucking
did that shit.

but twin,
so far?
yeah—
she’s surviving it.

and baby,
some day soon?
someone else
is gunna fucking
fumble
all-fucking-over
themselves,
just dying
to
goddamn
protect,
save,
to love that shit.

because hey?
you couldn’t.

💋