Samantha Lamph
Jul 19, 2017 · 3 min read

I have never been in love before. This is the first time. I often think “this is new.” I repeat this phrase and others in my mind. In my mind my voice sounds the same as it would in real life when I think “Do you love me? Do you love me? This is new.”

Today I am on drugs again. Don’t worry. I am only ever on the good kind of drugs. The ones that make flowers bloom backwards, the ones that turn the sky around the moon bright pink and neon blue. I am on these drugs and I am wondering if you love me. You have told me before that you do. But I want to make sure this is still true and I am simply too shy to ask. Instead I concoct convoluted situations which I hope will force you to prove that you do.

We are in a park with our friends and we are on these drugs and I want you to love me but I am too scared to ask you. I want to sit next to you in the grass and play with your hair and tell you I love you but I am still nervous, can you believe that? You turn me into this bashful mess of a person.

Obviously, I can’t just sit down next to you and play with your hair and tell you I love you. What if you don’t want me to do these things? What if you want to be left alone? I don’t want to bother you. But I do so want to be connected with you. Especially now when I’m on these drugs and I feel more alone than I usually do. And I usually feel pretty alone.

I decide to wander. I want you to follow me. I walk around this park. I walk far away. But not too far. I think if you wanted to you could still see me. I am stopping to look at all the ridiculous things that grow here. Right now, in the sun, on all these wonderful drugs, I feel like I should really be appreciating this tiny orange flower. I kind of appreciate it, but I’m still thinking about you and whether or not you love me and how this is so new. But you have not followed me, yet. You are still sitting in the grass and I still must refuse to invade your moment alone.

I give up on the wandering. I sit behind a tree. I don’t think you can see me anymore. I care but you probably don’t. I look at the sky, which is so blue and usually makes me feel that the world is so large. But today it feels like a cap. I wonder what is beyond it, hiding like me behind this tree.

I consider myself and what I have become as a result of so many things. My mother is a Sagittarius. When I was three I was in a cast for six months. I harbor ill will and desire revenge. I don’t know who I really am. My life is as messy as my room. The first time I kissed you it got me so high.

Suddenly, you are here. You have found me behind the tree.

“Are you okay?”

You ask because the last time I was on these drugs I traveled to a frightening place and got lost there for a long time. You feel bad because you could have been there with me and if you had been I probably wouldn’t have found myself there in the first place.

I have to look up and squint at you towering over me. I tell you that I am okay. But I am better than okay now because you have followed me and I know you love me again today.

You ask if I want you to leave me alone. But no, of course that is not what I want. It is the opposite of what I want.

You sit down next to me and mention the bees that I hadn’t noticed swarming.

Originally published at Connotation Press.

Samantha Lamph

Written by

is a writer, music lover, and cat masseuse in LA. She’s also the creator/co-curator of Memoir Mixtapes.