Thought Catalog

It’s 3 AM And He Texts Me

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It’s 3 am and my phone dings. My heart lurches in my throat and I curse myself for not having it on silent. Not because it woke me up, but because I already know it’s him. I know that it’s him and that my fingers will betray me, just like they do every night. This night, I say that it will be different. I tell myself I was never this girl. I watched my father disintegrate before my very eyes. I stood through my traumas. I held my own heart night after night. I never asked for anyone to stitch back together my broken pieces. I always did it on my own. I was the strong one, even when at my weakest.

But now, in my bed, texting back nonsense to a boy who tells me time and time again he will never give me what I willingly give him, I am a shell of my former self. I lie to my roommates when they ask the last time I talked to him. I repeatedly have epiphanies and announce with complete certainty, “I’m done.” I throw “fuck hims” around and put on my damn freakum dress. I dance until his lips on my forehead aren’t even a memory anymore. I dance until his name is just a name.

And then he reaches out. I think it must mean something, that I must mean something. And I go back on every promise. I go back on every word I’ve ever written. I convince myself he has to feel this too. I allow for his excuses.

“He’s scared.”

“He’s not ready.”

“He’s not over her.”

“He’s going to realize what he has one day.”

I plead with my own ego. I play Russian roulette with the little dignity I have left. I look at this crumbling figure back in the mirror. I can’t even remember when I used to love her so much.

I used to love her so much. She lies to me and tells me, one day, he’s going to see me for everything I am. I won’t be his emotional pillow. His selfish comfort. I am placeholder. I am temptation, something to ease the lonely. I am a girl he never wanted to begin with.

But the truth is, I can’t figure out how to make any of this sound pretty, or artistic. This is irrational, and dirty. This is ugly and a time I will look back on and feel pity for the foolish 22 year old woman I was. I am so goddamn lost and keep hoping his body will be the compass that leads me the right way. His eyes are lighthouses, but his hands sirens. I am shipwreck.

But before I know it, it’s 3 am again and my phone dings. TC mark

Ari Eastman

✨ real(ly not) chill. poet. writer. mental health activist. mama shark. ✨

Bloodline

In her third poetry collection, Ari Eastman takes us through a very personal journey of growing up, loss, love, and surviving it all.

there are too many rooms here, 
too many places
for my grief to sit

★★★★★ “Absolutely gorgeous writing. one of my new favorite collections of poetry. covers topics from grief to feminism to mental health and on. would definitely recommend to anyone even somewhat interested in poetry.” —Jessica

Buy The Book
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Poetry Lovers! 💖

Love a soft person. The ones who are positive, even in the worst of circumstances. Someone whose strength is not in bravado, but in their quiet. Someone who is strong for others because that is what is needed in that moment. Someone who is the moon that soothes instead of the sun that burns. Someone who sees the very best in people even when you think they aren’t worth it. The kind of person who always wants to do the best for those they love.

“I bought this on a whim to read as I was resting for the night, and I do not regret it one bit! Everything about the poetry in this book is amazing, heart breaking, and soul searching. It will lift your spirits on your darkest days. I want to thank the author so much for writing this, as it’s something I will be rereading a lot! Always remember, everything about you is important. You matter.” —McKayla

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  • fleurella

    Reblogged this on LIFE! And other curious tales.

  • Anon

    Reblogged this on Tabula Rasa.

  • http://livinginthecloset.wordpress.com closetintrovert28

    oh no! not the 3am habit! :( Cheer up! It’ll be better soon…

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