This Is What Comes To Mind When I Think About You

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woman on couch

Cigarette smoke, messy cars, cold coffee. The way people have so much underneath the surface that most of us will never see. The crinkles in the corners of your eyes. That hat. The time we went to the bar thinking that we would only have a drink and ended up getting a pitcher of margaritas. Protection. Safety. Pain. Confusion. Lying to myself, lying to you, lying to my friends. Lessons learned too late. Calloused hands. Whiskey eyes. Holding breath. Slurred speech, mixed signals, unclear emotions. Heartbreak. Love. Toxicity. Ignored intuition. Blind hope. Stupid girl. Regret.

So much regret.

Bad timing. Perfect timing. Hangovers. Drinking to forget. Drinking to confront. Drinking alone. How sick I am of writing about you. Brantley Gilbert. Disagreements. Alternate realities. Holding hands in the backseat, holding hands as we fell asleep, your lips on mine. Wishing I was different, less difficult, better. Lost moments, never enough time, wasted heart. Strong arms, warm body. Humiliation. Moving on, running back. Laughing over nothing, crying over everything. Pushing you away thinking you would come back until one day didn’t. Knowing it was for the best. Wanting the worst anyway.

Falling apart and together all at once. Lonely. Quiet stares. Knowing looks. Long drives. The National. Naps together. Missing myself. Healing. Falling back into old habits. Naive girl.

Thinking of you when I shouldn’t. Remembering you when I don’t want to. Pretending I’m over you. Actually getting over you and being terrified of that. Wanting to text you but closing my phone instead. Applebees. Knowing better and doing the opposite. Missing you. Missing myself. Forgetting who I was before you. Not being sure that’s someone worth bringing back.

Phone calls, text fights, unkind words. Hugging you. One-sided. Honesty that was ignored. Loving someone else. St. Patrick’s Day. Apologizing for nothing. Being too much. Being too little. Too close. Compassion. Seeing the best in me when I didn’t deserve it. Patience. So much patience. Not understanding why you continued to be there for me. Understanding when you finally did stop being there for me.

Losing you.

Losing myself. TC mark

Molly Burford

Writer. Editor. Hufflepuff. Dog person.

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