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Description
gravity made an exception, made it possible for my body to plunge down a tunnel on a freeway faster than the cars driving down it. the day I met you, james, I was originally supposed to hang out with my boyfriend. I'm not normally that kind of person. and it's not like I discarded my boyfriend or that he couldn't make me happy. I guess you just made me happier. I don't know what kind of person I've become that I'm complaining about the burning out of city lights in our relationship as opposed to feeling guilty about breaking up with my boyfriend, but I feel as though we used to be more exhilarating. you and I would talk until five in the morning. we'd take a bus downtown just to sit on the curb, laugh with our entire bodies, feel the blood surge through our veins.

james, when I think about our past, a migraine overcomes all thought processes taking place in my brain. mud-coloured memories rush through me—a sad distortion. it's a real shame the memories have to be so harshly stored in me that they pound in tune with my heartbeat, through the surface of my skin. how your smile produces shivers and the thought of your touch makes the vomit pile up like percolated coffee filling the coffee maker. not because it makes me sick—rather, my teeth chatter with fear. and my clothes on the floor—positioned in a way that slices the fragile depths of my memory—positioned in the way they were thrown when you kissed me for the first time and ended up staying the night. I'm scared of looking at the places where specific things have happened, being able to see you when I look at where you were once standing, but only being able to feel the empty space that's now there.

but james, now I know: we decide how far we're going to go and how fast we'll go to get to that point. and there are songs I listen to where I get this awful feeling these songs were background music, audibly haunting the air during a horrible occurrence, but I'm unable to recall the horrible events that took place. before, I was terrified of the way you made me feel and of how the words you said seemed to be this key that clicked into a lock in my stomach. but turning the key to complete the unlocking process instigated the realization of how terrible it felt to fit. now I sit here with the key in my hand and I feel those songs that make me feel sick but I still don't know why. and I don't exactly know the science behind relationships falling apart, but I sort of want to examine the dismal stages of a beautiful bond fading away. I wonder, if you look real close, if you can watch the specks of dust form over what made us really matter, over what was once there.

Description
gravity made an exception, made it possible for my body to plunge down a tunnel on a freeway faster than the cars driving down it. the day I met you, james, I was originally supposed to hang out with my boyfriend. I'm not normally that kind of person. and it's not like I discarded my boyfriend or that he couldn't make me happy. I guess you just made me happier. I don't know what kind of person I've become that I'm complaining about the burning out of city lights in our relationship as opposed to feeling guilty about breaking up with my boyfriend, but I feel as though we used to be more exhilarating. you and I would talk until five in the morning. we'd take a bus downtown just to sit on the curb, laugh with our entire bodies, feel the blood surge through our veins.

james, when I think about our past, a migraine overcomes all thought processes taking place in my brain. mud-coloured memories rush through me—a sad distortion. it's a real shame the memories have to be so harshly stored in me that they pound in tune with my heartbeat, through the surface of my skin. how your smile produces shivers and the thought of your touch makes the vomit pile up like percolated coffee filling the coffee maker. not because it makes me sick—rather, my teeth chatter with fear. and my clothes on the floor—positioned in a way that slices the fragile depths of my memory—positioned in the way they were thrown when you kissed me for the first time and ended up staying the night. I'm scared of looking at the places where specific things have happened, being able to see you when I look at where you were once standing, but only being able to feel the empty space that's now there.

but james, now I know: we decide how far we're going to go and how fast we'll go to get to that point. and there are songs I listen to where I get this awful feeling these songs were background music, audibly haunting the air during a horrible occurrence, but I'm unable to recall the horrible events that took place. before, I was terrified of the way you made me feel and of how the words you said seemed to be this key that clicked into a lock in my stomach. but turning the key to complete the unlocking process instigated the realization of how terrible it felt to fit. now I sit here with the key in my hand and I feel those songs that make me feel sick but I still don't know why. and I don't exactly know the science behind relationships falling apart, but I sort of want to examine the dismal stages of a beautiful bond fading away. I wonder, if you look real close, if you can watch the specks of dust form over what made us really matter, over what was once there.