To press (s)end.

Dear Friend,

Written are the words I am too afraid to speak aloud.

But last night, I spoke my mind. The words, running — spilling — out of my mouth too quickly for me to take back.

You’re the only person I trust in this world to read the words that you did last night. It was all too raw, too truthful to unearth. Every goddamn word.

I wouldn’t be selfish enough to admit them out loud — the truth that gifted itself as a hint written heavily upon those lines. Even after all these years.

(She said she’s got a boyfriend anyway) (And I’m about to fill his shoes-)

My mind was running faster each fleeting moment, as I wanted to know what you were thinking. I always am. A love so sweet that I always feel vulnerable.

(And I’m not trying to stop you love-)

The night ran away from us, with us. Never in sight, who knows?

Then the clock struck an arbitrary minute. Who cares? Drunken delirium runs our lives now.

You can only imagine what I thought at five-thirty-kiss.

You drew back, and suddenly my mind was blank. The words couldn’t find form this late at night, this early in the morning. All running halted. (But we’re both-?)

And at the time, I passed it off as something crazy — something we only hear girls like us do in the movies and books. (The fairytale enlaced in that journal) Perfectly orchestrated without any music. Childish laughter, embarrassment running wild, safety running free. And all the old thoughts and questions rushed in. In that very moment, I was four years younger. My dreams then fulfilled now. (And so I stay in the darkness with you)

A love so raw that I couldn’t drink it down.

The things I wish I had said now, the opportunities I wish I took. Quivering breath. Sweet smell graced over me. Close, closer. Everyone else was far away from my thoughts. I lost my phone. And then you said that name. I truthfully didn’t care anymore. A name that felt foreign to the night. Yours was the only one from home.

(Cosmic love, never let me go-)

And because of that, you make me doubt everything I thought I knew. Opened my eyes to a world I thought had left me. But now I am more vulnerable than ever. I’ve got more questions than answers, juxtaposed against you, always so composed — so resolute. I don’t really want any answers, though. I’d entertain the imagination that kept me going four years since. The truth is so simple that it scares me, because you probably didn’t take anything of it.

(She’s got a boyfriend anyway-)

But just in case, I held on tighter. The intimacy of fingertips. Soft, shaking, afraid-

My friend, you make me feel a paradox. Temptation: I’m as comfortable with you as I am scared, and I can never seem to get enough. Not after all these years. Even when I know we’ll be wedged apart soon enough. I don’t know how we lasted this long either, but miraculously, I kept my eighth grade promise to myself. You are still my best friend. Four years later.

(My own Maryanne)

I’m too afraid to click send. What would they say? (What will you think?) But perhaps you’ll never come across this. I will close my eyes now and let this free.

Write drunk, edit sober?

Unedited thoughts. Drunken delirium has now taken over.

I’m afraid to press (s)end.

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Originally published at on April 10, 2015.

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