my every third step, i stopped to look around, cautious of the man ten feet behind.
my every third word i asked if what i say is allowed, always made sure my opinions are fine.
my every third fight, i shifted my gaze to the ground, i should never once let them see me cry.
my every third date, i smiled and showed myself out, but they don’t know how i screamed out to the sky.
my every third step, i would think to myself, is this the type of story i want to leave behind?
It's 3 am. I wait patiently as drops of rain silently fall to rest in my warm hair. The night's serenity is interrupted by my sniffing every few seconds. I grip my shoulders and shiver. The tennis court is dark, the only light shines from my phone. Even though I've just scrolled through a hundred photos, I couldn't recount a single one if I was asked. I wait for the blood moon. I had researched the perfect spot. My camera swung slightly around my neck as I leaned against the metal fence. My Instagram feed is plagued by girls in pools and boys on sports fields. I acknowledge my jealousy of the four-digit numbers under the posts, but I would never let such a materialistic thing pollute my mind for too long. Besides, I was going to have the best shot of the moon. I glance up from my phone every few seconds and continue to scroll with my icy...
I've been sitting in this motel room for the past half hour. The humidity clouds around me like thoughts of you cloud my brain. The pink LED lights make this place seem nice. It makes me believe it's nice. I forget how I flew down here for you. I forget how you used me. I forget all the words you called me. I forget that I'm not supposed to love you anymore. You wouldn't believe how long I spent clicking my pen before I could even start this message for you. That was something I always admired about you: your certainty. That's how I know that this is the end. The same way I forget my woes, you forget your own. You've pushed me far from your thoughts. So, this is my postcard to you, from the edge of your mind.