"only love and death change all things."

2011 was a very big year for me- I learned, I loved, I hurt, I traveled, I jumped in with my eyes closed, I went forth with no direction, I found you, I found chaos, I changed and transformed, I fell into old habits, I hit the bottom and then found out it could go even deeper, I rose above it all, I let it eat me alive.

So much in one day, one week, or even one month can occur. But in one year I feel as if I am changed forever. I am locked into these friendships and memories in Gainesville that has sealed me to its location almost as if my veins are directly connected to the roots beneath the trees. Or my feet to the concrete on University Avenue. My eyes to the stars I view from my backyard. My lips and kiss to the 24 ounce mugs at Mars.

Each part of my body feels every part of Gainesville from the ghetto neighborhoods my house is surrounded by to the grassy meadows by the highway that runs along Santa Fe College. My body feels the cool air that smells of wild fires and allergy season and the air surges throughout Gainesville like a current, or a silent heartbeat, that keeps everyone happy, connected and existing. My body hears the cicadas of summer and the noiseless buzz the winter brings, a crisp and cool sound for my ears. My body feels the copious amounts of alcohol I've put inside of it, heightening my voice and hiding my emotions, hindering my thoughts and sometimes collecting in puddles on the floor.

In this year, I found you and I loved you and then you blindly ended it all. And still, I never stopped loving you, I just learned to deal with it. In this year, I traveled with a girl, a very special girl, to Europe. And we drank and danced and learned so much together. And in the same year, she has moved away. In this year, I faced my real first heartbreak- I lost myself completely and learned I was the only one who could bring me back. I cut my hair off, a big fuck you to my past-self.

I earned a lot, spend a lot, and lost a lot, of everything.

In this year, I met a boy in New York and learned that love at first sight isn't just something out of romance novels and Disney movies.

If I could gather it all into a book of stories, the book would be heavy and bloody and soaked with beer, wine, tears, and coated with red lip stains and cigarette ash. It would be heavily bound with shoelaces I never use and photographed by the camera I'll never get back.

Now there are only four days left until 2012. And I can only smile and hope that this year is better. That there's a new love, and new life, and new beginning all waiting ahead. And that everyone around me is filled with that same warm feeling of hope. Because if there's one thing that does not change, it's that hope is a universal feeling.

The feeling of wanting something better than what we had before.

this city is for strangers like the sky is for the stars

"He needs you."

She looked up at me with doe-eyes. They were wide and scared and angry and envious, but for what reason? Why did she think something was still there when there was nothing at all?

"Time changes everything," I told her in confidence. She looked back at me again with those eyes and wanted to believe me. And thats when I knew- she loved him. She loved him so much, just as I did. And she looked so terrified when I told her how bad it was when it was over. She said the details made her shake.

I felt so indifferent towards the entire situation, so numb and careless. But that changed when I caught him staring at me, eyes as sharp as the knives he stuck in my back. They were smoldering the way they used to each time I felt them on me. My face flushed. In an instant, I lost control. And in the same amount of time I regained my cool, my posture, and went inside. I wasn't going to let him win.

Inside was a mess. There was so much dirt on the floor that it spread like wildfire into the hallway, into my room, which was smoky and littered with half empty, abandoned beer bottles.

"Where's Teenie?" everyone kept asking. When I replied, they laughed. The birthday girl never even made it to her own birthday party- her and Conrad were passed out three hours after midnight.

Everyone else celebrated for her, drinking copious amounts of beer, collecting around the fire we made for her, keeping warm, laughing, throwing drunk slurs around, running, smiling, blushing. Being happy. Being comfortably drunk. It was nice to go to parties and socialize, but it was even better bringing the party home with only the closest of friends. Boundaries drop and personal walls lower. Guards come down. Shoes come off.

I wandered back inside and there he was. He was staring at me again just like before.

"It would be nice if you would stop doing that." I said it quietly and seriously. Without changing his face, his eyes, his arm reached out. His rough fingertips gently grazed my face and the corner right of his lips lifted into a smile. I pushed him away, hard.

"Don't start." And with that, without turning back, I walked outside towards the dying fire. I couldn't help but glance at her and feel bad.

It was like watching history repeat itself through a glass room.

a series of occurrences/instances/words

"I'm seeing someone," said New York to Florida. Florida held her breath- she knew this was going to happen sooner or later. New York as always was ever-changing and evolving with time. The temperature in the air dropped, the leaves changed, and snow fell lightly over it's graffitied buildings. Florida was just a gust of wind passing through, soaking in what it could before being swept away again down the East coast.

She swayed so much you would have thought she had heels on. Slurring and crying under the colorful strobe lights in Razzles, she looked like a mess. I couldn't look at her without feeling the awkward nostalgia creep up on me, the perfect deja vu of this situation. "She told me she loved me," said Nicole. I felt my back stiffen- was this really happening? I went up to Alex and couldn't even keep the stinger out of my tone. I know what I said, and they way I said it, must've hit a soft spot. "You haven't changed a bit."

My mother's hair was getting so long, I thought as I spread out next to her in her comfortable queen sized bed. It always felt like I was stretching out on some cloud when my bare legs hit the sheets- they were so soft and always clean. I was so stoned, all she could do was laugh at me. With our butts pressed together we reminisced and stumbled upon the topic of her old roommates and how she'd be needing a new one soon. I laughed and brought up Trevor- she had him baker acted after breaking the door to his room and I hadn't seen him since. I sighed and said, "I hope he's doing okay." My mother paused before she said anything, and then she said these two words like she really meant it. "Me too, Lauren."

After only four hours of sleep, I finally awoke alone and still tired from the night before. I rolled over and fought off the day, closed my eyes to pretend the sun never came up and I never left his bedroom. My clothes reeked of him, reeked of the scent of his room, his noisy bed, which hasn't changed at all since the summer before last. I took a deep breath- my mouth still tasted like his. I could have kissed him till sunrise, could have enjoyed the way his body sank into mine so deeply. I could have woke up wrapped in those big arms to that familiar face I could never stop being attracted to."I don't think I'll ever stop liking you," he said softly and sweetly running his big hands through my short hair. My head was spinning, and that's when I gave up. I leaned in and kissed him, and it all came rushing back. It always did.

Beata's blue eyes looked as they did while inspiring me in high school- wide, wise, and like the ice that sunk The Titanic. The lightest shade of blue out there that can only be described as frozen water. It was so good to see her after all this time. "Lauren, you look so different! You've really changed." I smiled and tried to process what exactly she meant. "I mean, you can tell you live in Gainesville." I laughed. This wasn't the first time I heard it. A few minutes went by and we caught up, talked about lost lovers and our cats. "We're products of our environments," she concluded with an exhale of her cigarette. She always had the best quotes to warm up any conversation, a fleck of color on a white wall, the light at the end of a very dark tunnel.

"December, be kind."

here comes a feeling you thought you'd forgetten

Your freckles remind me of constellations. I trace shapes around them with my trembling fingertips and feel that stomached anxiety arise. Your eyes are closed and your lips fall open- you have no idea I'm falling apart because I want to be there, I want you.

There isn't an unknown written timeline somewhere telling you when it's okay to start dating again, liking again, fucking again, loving again. There isn't a handbook with facts on telling you when to let go of the past. There isn't a medical guide on testing your heart to see if it's strong enough to hold that weight again, if it can't stay in one piece under the pressure. If it will just break all over again.

I try to swallow the feeling in my stomach and just let it happen. Let myself like you, let myself feel free to enjoy your lips and our eye contact and exchanged smiles. But there is always doubt lingering and it lingers so heavily. It knocks the breath out of me.

Sometimes you make my heart jump a little. Sometimes when we kiss, it makes me dizzy. Sometimes, I miss you.

And I should let all of these things make me happy again. But it's hard when in this routine of a relationship, you get used to that space being filled. The cold side of your bed comes to life with warmth. Your phone battery is almost always dead because you've been texting them, or about them, so much. The calendar becomes a nuisance because each day goes by faster and faster. Showering alone becomes foreign. And the thought of any other persons mouth near yours becomes sickening, like everyone else has terrible breath.

Once all of these things cease to occur, and they're taken away from you. . .

being alone hurts. The nighttime becomes frightening. You sleep in the middle of your bed and line the walls of your body with pillows. Showers are depressing, music makes you sad. You want to put your mouth on somebody else's but it's not the same. You're walking around always thinking, "well who am I going to fuck now?" Your always comparing and expecting more, because you like what you had and what you had is gone.

I don't know if I'm ready for that again, the longing, the dependency.

Missing somebody.

Missing you.

you keep moving, where are you going?

It feels like I haven't been home in ages. But what is home anymore?

Home has been Gainesville- my new house, my cats, the tall dead tree in my backyard, Santa Fe College, Madison's deep blue eyes, Aleacia's smiling lips, Mars Pub & Laser Tag, the changing leaves and dropping temperatures, Josh's bedroom. . . but my home is ever-changing with time, as most things do. The stability it once was resting upon has broken in two, two new directions, two new choices.

Things never really happen the way you hope them to. But I really hoped this time. I hoped so hard and felt so confident. I shouldn't have been confident, but I wanted this so badly. And now, now I don't know anymore. I don't know if I even want to stay here.

"Home" might have to change, become another place.

Maybe I'll follow Aleacia to Pensacola.

Or maybe, maybe I'll go to Houston and work with Rebekah.

The options are never ending.

I could just stay here and try again, try harder.

But will I continue to be happy?

Home is where the heart is, but Gainesville doesn't seem to hold my heart anymore.

is this real life?

This changes everything.

Everything I have been planning, building up to, shot down so easily, so carefully, written so carelessly. I didn't get in. I'm not competitive enough.

I'm not good enough.

And that's all I've been hearing, breathing, thinking.

Gainesville was once too big for me, but maybe it's time, maybe this time I'm too big for Gainesville.

Not academically, of course.

Maybe elsewhere, somewhere, anywhere but here.

It could be my impulses, or my irrational thoughts, but this means something. Why reapply, why be shot down again? Why not just carry on to the next big thing, and just move?

I don't think they'll miss me so much, everybody has somebody, and they'll be okay. And they'll get to keep the trees and the prairie and they're dreams and those awful orange and blue signs that litter the city.

I've skipped biology twice.

Who cares?

I don't think I care.

and that's what this is all about

The fire danced like lively silhouettes across our faces as we sipped our cold, cheap beer with frozen fingertips. The laughter in the air was as thick and rich as the dropping temperatures that were slowly creeping up on us. Everyone was smiling and they were drunk, or almost drunk, but happy. Definitely happy.

So many friendly faces showed up throughout the night at the first bonfire we had ever had at our house. I sat in silence sometimes to just take it all in- our cats stalking the shadows, Claude running through the bushes after them, the stars shining brightly in the clear night sky, the scent of roasted marshmallows and store brand bought gram crackers- it reminded me of camping with my family, and the universal joy it brought all of us. Something about the fire brought out the warmth in everybody, or maybe it was just the thick coats, colorful scarves, or comfortable boots. Whatever it was, the night was young, even two hours after midnight.

We were ready to keep going, keep the energy alive until we ran it dry, because it was October, and we had a fire and there were tires to sit on and beer to drink and stories to share and s'mores to eat and hands to hold and faces to see and laughter to echo and time to be passed, carefully.

"There was life to be lived", said the fire, still burning the following day when we stirred our sore bodies awake hours after sunrise.

come on skinny love, just last the year

These posts and thoughts about time never get old, because the mystery of time never ceases to surprise, or terrify each of us with it's speed and disappearing acts.

It's fall and cold temperatures are coming, says the limp hands drifting along with the wind hanging outside of moving car windows.

Mom's relapsed and is lying her way out of it, says the silence between us, once again.

I'm falling in and out of a happy state of mind, with you, and without you, says the idea of us, such a potentially devastating idea- I find myself drifting further from you, taking the easy way out. Running.

And I wait. I wait for an answer from the only university I applied to. I wait for cold weather and weekends. I wait for normalcy from the woman who birthed me, because I need her, I'll always need her. I wait for patience and peace of mind to well up within me and pour out, to tell me letting myself care about someone new is okay. Letting myself be happy again is good for me. I wait for the sun to shine and the rain to stop coming down so hard and consistently. I wait for friends to come in and out of my life. I wait till the last minute to get things done.

I'm always hoping for some sort of consistency, something that becomes a ritualistic pattern that I can get used to.

And once that falls into place, here I am bored with it, sighing, waiting for the chaos to begin again, bringing me back to life.

a change of scenery

It's drizzling a cold, constant rain outside this Saturday morning. I'm sitting on my back patio with the Flannery O'Connor book of stories I found for 50 cents at my school library and some coffee listening to the buzz of droplets melodically batting the rooftops of North East 9th Street. The cats are outside and playing in the rain, running, exploring, learning, always together and forever curious.You're in my room sleeping, curled up at the edge of the bed. Every time I sneak in there to grab something, I'll glance and you and smile a little- this was so unexpected I would think. But this was so nice.

Last weekend it hit me like a bag of grenades, or something even bigger and more explosive- land mimes? It had been building up ever since he was at my door, in my room, smoking a blunt with me on my bed and then resting a hand on my knee in the car ride following- closure. It took six months, some gained weight, and a pathetic attempt to stay at my house for me to realize I had been chasing what he had been, what we had been, and what we would never get back again. It all finally became clear to me as I walked into Mars with my parents and he was there without her.

"I think we should hangout more." I looked at him and then looked back down at my beer. I cracked a smile, and then I just let it loose.

"Hmm, I don't think that's a good idea." And it sat in the air, the control I was taking back, and it settled thickly. It left an imprint.

My dad took my stepmom and I to one of the best restaurants in town. Together there, we drank beer, ate appetizers, and my dad watched me in my environment, in my home, and he looked pleased.

"You look so happy." It wasn't just an observation, it was a statement. The booze was now settling in our veins. My face felt flushed and my cheeks hurt from grinning so much. As we walked my dad hugged me, his long, strong dad-arms wrapped around me and said, "we thought we lost you honey! Finally you're over this loser and you can move on!"

It was like a celebration.

The very next day when they left town, I went to your house.

And moving on is exactly what I did.

I lost my page again: letters to NY.

Dear Brooklyn,

It's strange how I've already forgotten your face and the way you sound. The different tones of you- happy, upset, confused, jealous, caffeinated, drunk, busy, angry. . . all of these details and many more have fallen into this pit that I have thrown the memory of you in, not purposefully- but with time. I wasn't ready to stow away these moments, these city sounds, the ringtone, the voice, and the face. You.

I miss shark the necklace I bought from your flea market, or the rusty metal letters I bought for one dollar a piece that spelled out "HOME" in different colors. I miss our conversations of grocery store honeydew and pad thai excursions. I miss the way you breathed my name into the phone late that one evening, bated and longingly.

I miss the people that walked on your streets, young and fashionable, and happy, or at least happy looking. Healthy. Beautiful. Dedicated. Creative, and maybe sometimes, lonely.

I miss the woman with dark hair who told me, "you look like you belong here" and envy her strongly at the same time. I miss your weather, always cooler than the air here, and the four seasons of which Florida lacks two of.

I miss you telling me of your friends, and how they'd love to meet me, and I'd agree because I'd love to meet them, too.

I miss you telling me to come be your muse.

I forgot your body, the length of your fingertips, or your button nose. Your accent. Your smile.

I forgot what it was like to wait underground for the train to the city and lose all service, every connection to the world above.

And you- I think you've forgotten me, too.

And it will be as if we never met on those slick city streets in the rain.

Florida never met New York.

Gainesville never had the chance to enjoy Brooklyn.

Hope all is well, and the fall air is falling lightly, coolly, on your eyelashes and graffitied buildings.

Sincerely,

Gainesville

under a biological influence.

fate plays no role and the stars know

nothing

our eyes do not meet

and our fingertips print different

constellations

opposing

from all those love songs

our DNA chromosomes do not match

like

puzzles pieces

it may last infinitely

though
not forever

like in the movies

but

your smile reflects mine

my hand disappears in yours

we admire the same moon

and

bleed the same color

and we were in the same place at the same time

colliding

fate plays no role and the stars know

nothing

tell my mother all the things I couldn't tell her

Dear Mom,

She held the glass of wine in her hand delicately, but firmly, while talking to me. Her short blonde hair looked like something out of an expensive salon advertisement, glistening and falling to the side every time she turned her face towards me to smile. I don't think I have seen her since the divorce, since my dark years, and since yours, too. Her eyes lit up.

"Lauren, you look so pretty! You're all grown up now!"

My cousin-in-law looked at me and took a deep breath. What she told me came from deep down inside her- something that had been lingering for awhile- and this was her chance to finally release it.

She told me she missed you. She told me she used to have so much fun with you, that you two were "best friends". She misses your trips, your wacky moments, your Sex in The City like conversations. She said I smiled just like you. When she saw your picture, mom, she said you looked pretty, and you looked happy.

I looked at her and could tell there was so much more she wanted to say. But I didn't press the subject. Instead I did what you're supposed to do and asked about her kids- they're so grown up now. We exchanged a few more words, naturally, and then I hugged her goodbye.

"Tell your mom I miss her."

I smiled and really meant it.

"I will."

Love,

Lauren

Ps. I'm sorry I didn't tell you she was in town. You weren't ready yet.

One month later: letters to NY

Dear New York,

One month ago from tonight, we collided at some old bar that my aunt favored over the rest of New York City's fine selection. You walked in with your friends and we made eye contact; after that, I don't think we ever stopped. I don't know if you remember, but I do- every minute, every feeling that arose, and every blush that tinted my face. I felt like I was on fire, not even having to look up to be aware that you were watching me- I just knew. On a rainy night in Manhattan, we stained the city streets with our wet feet, the brick buildings and concrete stoops with our drenched backs, the city air with our bated breath. So consumed we were with each other, losing our train of thought and time, losings our minds. Yellow cabs kept driving by, drunk girls continued to fall in their heels, and there was a deadly scream in the air- life continued to go on around us, and at our eye level, it was undisturbed. Stuck in the moment, because that was all we had.

Time stopped but the rain never did.

The next day it was still coming down, as if the sunlight didn't want me to forget the boy I spent my entire last night of New York with. Little did I know you couldn't forget me either or that for the next few weeks we'd talk incessantly.

Little did I know somebody over a thousand miles away could make me so happy, and at the same time, make me so depressed. I was enthralled about the idea of us happening, and so upset with the reality of the situation: we couldn't happen.

One month later, I'm coming to terms with it. We weren't meant to be. Fate played no cards in this. It was just something that happened to occur. Something that momentarily was perfect.

All we had is that night, and almost lover, I think it's all we'll ever have.

Ps. Call me if you ever make it to Sarasota. I'll be here.

Sincerely,

Florida.

in chaos I found you, and then in you, I found chaos

I'm sitting at my favorite local coffee shop surrounded by college students and Gainesvilles finest dreamers. They all sit alone, or with an acquaintance, quiet or talkative, lonely or happily grouped, reading books, surfing the web, or smoking a cigarette subtly sipping their coffee every few minutes with darting eyes.

I look around and observe that I am the only one with a chocolate chip cookie- they're the best. I wish someone else would try one on a whim and become hooked like I did my first time.

Every time a new person walks up in search of outside seating (sitting inside is just stupid on such a rare, breezy, beautiful day here), I look up as if I'm waiting to see somebody. I feel anxious every time a different body comes into view of my peripheral vision.

Who or what am I waiting for?

I hope that it's not him. I hope I'm not sitting here waiting for the first person who brought me here to just randomly show up, alone, and maybe looking for me, too.

Things like that just don't happen, though in movies and books it's almost natural for such occurrences to magically enfold.

I'll say it again, like I have many times before, the feeling of hope New York brought me approximately a month ago leaving me naked of the phrase,

"these things just happen."

No, they don't.

At least they don't happen here, or happen to me.

It smells like fall is arriving in the air today, at last.

Please stay, and continue to enlighten and remind me that time is passing.

Life is going on.

insomnia and a racing heart

I stir and arise for water- the time does not strike me as odd till I am back in bed and wide awake. I try to call, because a week ago from right now you were awake kissing me goodbye in the hallway of the Ace Hotel. But this time, you are not awake, or you do not want to talk, and I'm sitting here thinking of how much I wish I wouldn't have said goodbye as soon if I could do it all over again.

I wish we fell asleep in that goddamn hallway because we had nowhere else to go. I wish that for one second I would have thought how much this was going to affect me, not just the next day when I woke up to my last day in New York, but right now in Florida, one week later, at six in the morning.

The cats are getting restless.

The house is sighing deep sighs as if to mimic my distress.

I'm watching the minutes pass and feeling more and more nostalgic, more and more sad.

If I could hear your voice right now, this is what I'd say: "A week ago from tonight, or more specifically right now, we had the most amazing night. A night that movies try to capture with a mutual feeling between us that some people never get to experience in their whole lives. We had that in one moment, in one night, and I'm not sure if I'll be able to act like it didn't happen for a reason. In one of the biggest, most busiest cities in the world, two people collided at a bar because one of them decided to take a picture of the rain, a picture that person will never get to see again. These two people clicked and a small spark by the end of the night was a fire impossible to extinguish, even now one week later, 1,006 miles away. Our story is one of the arts, one where only a person like me or you could make it something so beautiful and so surreal. I was the girl unafraid to take my shoes off, get my feet wet on the ground all over the city, hair drenched, high off of you and adrenaline and the heat of the moment. You were the boy right there with me ready for anything as long as it included not ending that night with wet hair and an eager smile on your face.

I miss that smile more than anything right now, and I would do anything to just fall asleep in my bed and wake up in yours next to you. I'd do anything to have you and call you mine, or have you introduce me to your friends as yours, and show you Gainesville and Mars, or see your art and your creations, your life before me. . .

If you can think back right to that moment before you walked in the bar we collided at, before we made eye contact and then couldn't stop, would you go back and wish we had never met? Would it had been easier for the both of us that night, or right now? If you too, cannot say yes. If you too, cannot wish this happening away. If you too, wish for something more-

let's jump in with our eyes closed.

If we fail, we can always remember we gave it a chance.

We have nothing to lose, but so much to gain."

* * *

I'm looking outside my window and like the week before, the sun is up and trickling light in. Only this time, I'm not hearing traffic, or sirens, or city life outside my hotel window.

This time I only hear one lone bird chirping on the tree next to my window, and the rest is quiet.

But once again, you're on my mind, and I am restless.

Nothings changed, but everything's changing.

Predicting love was never easy.

baths, a familiar book, & fate

It's the last weekend of summer, and the first weekend I've spent alone in my new house. I've developed a routine, one I was slightly expecting to happen: sleep with the cats, walk around in the nude to make coffee, or light incense, getting ready for work with my iTunes playing loudly from my room. I did not expect to take baths, which I have done each day with a book in hand -it's been very relaxing and humbling.

I'm reading The Perks of Being a Wallflower again for the 4th time, and I guess I could say it's even better now than the last time I opened it's weary pages in high school. It makes me think, and laugh, and cry, and feel human through each word Charlie writes anonymously.

Today, specifically, I thought about this routine that has been developing, and then I thought about it's holes. What it was missing. And then I get a text from you.

You're the only thing that's missing right now. It puts a hole through my chest each time I dwell on the thought of our lives colliding. Us living in the same state, same county, or same town.

And then sometimes, like right now, I get this nauseating feeling. A feeling that makes me sick to my stomach.

What if we never get to experience this life together? Or even worse, what if we're too afraid to take the chance or even try? People do this everywhere. They date, and one moves away, or they meet incidentally on a rainy night in New York and kiss in the storm till sunrise, and then the girl goes back to Florida while the boy stays in New York because he just moved there two months ago, from Florida.

"You just have to sit back and think to yourself, is it going to be worth it? Is it going to be worth all those moments you're alone, and you wish he was with you, and it just kills you inside how much you long for his hand in yours. It's going to be hard, but you have to remember, every moment you're not physically together makes those moments when you are so worth it. It makes the distance disappear, and for awhile, you're perfectly happy."

I stared at my coworker who I just met and who I may never see again with a half-smile on my face.

"I know it's worth it, I just need to prove it, for him. And then he'll know, this has all happened for a reason. And it's worth it."

"we're a story"

"Don't leave me."

The way he said it so softly, longingly, and seriously, choked me up. I couldn't respond immediately because we both knew what sunrise would bring- I was leaving New York to arrive back in Florida.

For a moment, a mutual vision was shared in our eyes of a life we couldn't have. A life where we could conveniently wake up to each other every morning and decide to lay in bed all day, never leaving the house except for the bare necessities. A life where we could drink coffee and learn about each other, our pasts, families, experiences, heartbreaks, and dreams. A life that would be full of nights walking around the city aimlessly just to enjoy one another's company in the beautiful buzz of the New York Lifestyle, getting lost, losing ourselves. One where a seed could be planted and watered for growth with wide smiles, open mouthed laughs, and unconditional, inspirational love. It could happen in another life time where he still lived in Florida, or I was done with school already, and we could be happy.

I looked him in the eyes this time without him asking me politely and smiled when really I just kind of wanted to cry. I felt an overwhelming feeling I had become unfamiliar with, an uncontrollable ocean of emotions.

"Pinky promise me this won't be the last time we'll see each other." He stared at my hand and shook his head.

"I can't promise that because I don't know." The hope inside me withered a little- I knew where he was coming from, but I wouldn't imagine this being the end already. I couldn't.

"I know we will, even if it means I have to come back." I decided before the words were even out.

Justin looked up at me with his shining hazel eyes and wrapped his pinky around mine. We kissed our hands, as if to seal the promise.

"Come here," he said with a half smile, and I breathed a kiss in. My head whirled and my knee's weakened.

Saying goodbye was hard. We dragged it out like the night, not wasting any time to be completely consumed with each other, kissing and touching and laughing, hoping it would never end. There was a mutual light in both our eyes that was something like a feeling I had forgotten- I think he forgot it for awhile, too, and together we marveled in it not thinking of where I would be in just under twelve hours.

I was going to miss his cute button nose and strong hands on the small of my back.

The way he told me he loved my laugh and played with me in the rain.

The way he told me he loved that I was mad at him, or pinned me against a brick wall, or held my hand and kissed my knuckles.

It was like we had a lifetime together in one night, passing by too quickly but sinking in so comfortably, naturally.

It's like I had known him forever or not met him at all.

"These things just happen," he said kissing me goodbye once more in front of my hotel room, and I recalled when the bartender said the exact same words two nights before.

I smiled from ear to ear reflecting his expression- this wasn't goodbye forever.

This wasn't the end.

home is where the heart(break) is

This place is new. Not like, fresh out of the bag new- it's been used and lived in before. People have lived her, loved here, laughed here, cried here before me, and now it remains empty like some hollow skeleton. Memories of their own haunted them in these rooms, these hallways, underneath the windowsills and patio roofs. I walk through the house and run my fingers over it's bones, the walls, and my toes over the sandy half wooden-half tile floors unintentionally thinking, "one day, this house won't be new anymore. It will one day too, carry it's own nostalgic value that can bring back that ache." I know I'm just thinking too much or too far ahead, but I can't dare myself to stop. I catch a glimpse of the feeling of my heart breaking, of my legs walking after the next man that I give my all to. Or my disbelief in the next friend to betray me, my fists angry and blinding white. The next time my mother comes clean about not being clean, my eyes dry from crying.

I envision these occurrences enfolding in the living room, or my room, or maybe on the front patio- instantly, the idea of this new place, my new home, is soiled. I panic.

This place is a place to call my own and make new. A clean slate to start developing and building up for better things, without the ache. Without the memory.

Without weight.

If love is never planted, I will never have to reap what I sow.

If I am careful, this new (clean) feeling will stay, and things will become beautiful again, like sunshine in the summer or campfires in the winter.

Home will be homefree.

it's from the drinks we drank last night

The days blur together as they always do in summertime, Danny and I agreed this afternoon. I dropped him off at Starbucks and he gave me a big hug, slightly kissed my cheek and said "you're a life saver." I smiled and replied, "I know," and then he closed the car door, his cigarette smoke dancing around in the space between us before he disappeared inside.

That morning I woke up on he and Allison's couch and made the decision to not go to my third day of summer school. My head was pounding too hard. My stomach was too void of real food and too full of drinks from the night before. I looked in the mirror- my hair was a wreck, sticking out in every direction. My makeup had smeared and some had rubbed off. I was the definition of a phrase my mother used to say: "You look like you've been out at a bar all night getting fucked." When I was younger, I knew she could have just said "slut".

Looking at my reflection, I knew "slut" just wouldn't cut it. Maybe "party animal" or "hot mess". Words couldn't describe it, really.

I crawled back to the couch in my exhausted state and quickly slipped back into unconsciousness.

This has been my life for a few months now.

The chaotic pattern it's ensued has been something beautiful to watch enfold, piece itself together with cigarettes, empty beer cans, good friends, live music, and many unpredictable adventures. I think about it and smile, think about the good people I'm surrounded by.

I recall walking away from the boys house with Madison for the first time back in April. Heels in hand, squinting in the sunlight, we laughed as we looked back at their house. "This is going to be our summer."

We were right.

I didn't think I could ever say it, but thank you. Thank you so much for ending things with me so I could open a new book and start writing. So I could start learning and living. Growing.

Thank you for ending us so I could start me.

This will be the last time I write about you.

In ten days, I will finally be two decades old. No longer will the word "teen" ever exist in my age again. It's a realization that makes me sad and at the same time makes me so ecstatic.

I am going to be twenty.

(Top photo: Sean Rozycki @ http://seanrozycki.blogspot.com/)

a man, a moment, a realization

a stranger at a bar

alone

or lonely

with blue eyes that tell stories

in a blink

or an uneasy smile

afraid

or

bashful

yet hopeful

and calloused feet

that have walked miles

or felt grounded

once upon a time

we're having problems climbing hills

and the stranger- mountains

as tall as the sky

just as

infinite

beautiful

and free

one summer afternoon over a hot mug of coffee

Time: as much as waiting and anticipating it hurts and flows slowly like lava, or hot fudge, it's a crucial component. It's the monster in your closet you have to face. It's the obstacle that seems impossible to leap over. It's the key factor in moving on.

Progressing.

Moving forward.

Leaving the past behind.

And finally, like a bag of beautiful, explosive dynamite or fireworks- it hit me and I felt new.

I'm over it.

I'm over you, three fucking months later.

Three months later, I am out of school.

I have acquired a job, a circle of friends.

Mom's clean, she says.

Little brother is a senior now, seventeen.

And I feel lighter.

It's summertime, I'm healing, and for the first time I can genuinely say I'm doing okay.

In a nutshell: Houston

"Mmm, the avocado was extra good today," said Rebekah as she continued on her morning routine.

She grabbed a copy of the New York Times off of the kitchen table, her hot tea, and went straight to the bathroom as she did every morning. I'm pretty sure we all know what came next.

Today she was wearing her new long dress she bought from Anthroplogie, the adult Urban Outfitters. It proved to me that she could be just as girly as me, wearing her unwashed dress the very next day after its purchase. I, too, wanted to wear my new clothes but knew my hands would get far too dirty and the purchase was far too expensive for the risk.

Maybe one day before I left I'd wear the denim shorts I bought. I'm hoping I will.

Houston has been very interesting and fulfilling as it was last year. Though the difference in one year of age has brought many more things into my sight than the last- tasting good wine with good food, it accentuating and highlighting the flavors sloshing around on my tongue. Who knew Indian food would be so delicious with white wine? Who knew I'd fall in love with the Shiner Redbird beer at the oldest building in Houston, a bar called La Carafe, which had a mix of grapefruit and ginger accents. When it touched my tongue and by the time it reached my stomach, I got chills from the bubbly, tangy flavors. I drank it like water, or maybe I was just dehydrated.

I also feel more aware of Rebekah and her changes as well. But still, the ever changing chameleon is still an inspiration, a woman to look up to who isn't knee deep in debt, drugs, or a man.

I'm home now and it feels as it I never left or I have been away for months. I'm reminiscing about late nights in Houston: Cinco De Mayo with a cute punk kid named Cody. Cody had his lip pierced, messy hair, and bright eyes. When he smiled, his whole face lit up. We sat on a hill by the bayou looking into the soul of Houston, the city, the skyline, drinking beer quickly so our bones could loosen and relax. He had a warrant out for his arrest. He had just gotten out of a six year relationship. He was only 24. He loved going to London and squatting with friends there, getting lost in a different country broke as shit. He loved cocaine and ketamine. Acid was far too intense for him, he said. Cody smoked a lot of cigarettes and had a dog that shared my cats name. His house was full of other punk kids that I met as midnight passed and we sat on his bed drinking tall boys. I talked to girls with dyed black hair, boys with gauged septum piercings bigger than the width of my pinky nail. Many had on denim, frayed, studded clothes. Many had tattoos. But each and everyone of them were a delight to meet.

He held my hand when he drunkenly walked me home and kissed my neck goodbye.

I never saw Cody again after that.

Friday the 13th was another memorable night. I found myself on the dance floor at some goth club dancing to 80's music with this beautiful woman, occasionally kissing a boy named Matt who wouldn't stop saying I was too tall. He had blue eyes, the weakness in my knees, and a strong hand that would come from nowhere to grab my neck and kiss my lips. His 5 o'clock aftershave would rub against my upper lip, leaving it tingly and a little raw. I liked the progressive pain it caused. The girl I danced with all night was named Lorna. She was tall and beautiful with pale skin and dark hair. Her boyfriend was also attractive with green eyes and muscular arms. I forgot his name, but he wanted Lorna and I to have a threesome with him. I kissed her and said that should be enough. The night was coming to an end. I thought back to a year ago and the way I sat on the sidelines with Andrew wanting and wishing I could let loose and dance. One year later, I was doing it. It was like magic, like watching a dream come true, indulging and soaking everything in at it's full potential.

I left Numbers that night with Lorna and her boyfriend, driving to their apartment which whereabouts I was unaware of. Drunk and stoned one hour later, they dropped me off at Andrews around three thirty in the morning. I gave Andrew a hug goodnight and crawled into his guest bed, falling, swooning into a drunken deep sleep.

Houston never looked and felt so good, I thought between the sheets.

Houston: Rebekah's

Houston, give me back my appetite

to eat

to love

to live.

transitions

This past weekend I saw a picture of myself from less than a year ago.

It was not okay.

I wouldn't dance.

I wouldn't walk with my head held high.

I wouldn't look away from my feet, my toes, the floor.

I wouldn't let loose.

I wouldn't scream loud.

I wouldn't take a chance.

So many limits, fears, boundaries, doubts and insecurities eating me alive, holding me down.

Everything I wasn't then is everything I've become.

Almost one year later, I think I'm doing alright.

maps & mars

wait,

they don't love you like I love you

Out of every song, this is the one you played before you walked out my room almost one month ago.

"See you later, kid." I felt so fragile as you said this and the song played. The front door slammed shut.

I started collapsing into myself, like my ribs were caving in and my chest was being compressed under an immense amount of pressure. The song kept playing though, and I breathed in deeply as I listened to it's lyrics.

made off, don't stray

my kind's your kind

i'll stay the same

pack up, don't stray

oh, stay stay stay

This is the one thing that I didn't have to read into to understand. I didn't overanalyze it, it just immediately made sense. The song said everything you couldn't tell me. One month later, I'm not so sure if that's true anymore.

The idea of what once was is now the idea of what never happened.

* * * * *

It started just like any other night.

Madison and I driving to the boys house to meet Danielle.

Smoking, drinking, and some socializing before heading out for the night.

Playing with Claude.

Reece taking embarrassing, unattractive photos.

Conrad and Richie playing music.

It all felt very familiar and I felt very comfortable with Madison next to me as always. I held onto her a lot throughout the night- we were going to be separated for two weeks and tonight was the celebration.

Mars Pub was filled with the usual regulars when we walked in. Melissa's friendly smile could be seen from behind the bar.

Throughout the beginning of the night there was a lot of cheap beer drinking, random conversations, and chain smoking. Pictures were being taken, memories and moments were being documented, and everyone had a smile on their face. I swallowed the nausea that had been chasing me all day since you called and kept drinking, kept pushing it away.

Every effort, all of it, came crashing down when I walked back in from out back. I saw her sister. And then I saw her. And then I saw you. Connecting the dots had never been easier as I saw the horrified and disgusted looks my friends were exchanging.

My friends. I was surrounded by them. I was protected. I was in a safe zone.

I leaned into Conrad. "That's him." I pointed at a stranger in a V-neck shirt, yellow shorts, and boat shoes.

"Do you wanna like, smooch? We could make him mad," he smiled and laughed a little. I laughed hard, hysterical, and did my best to keep my eyes forward and back turned.

Why didn't I say yes?

"Just stand right here for a few minutes." I tried to sound calm, but my stomach was doing flip flops, the bile slowly creeping up. He stood next to me like I asked looking concerned. It was the last call. I chugged my beer and went to the bathroom. Why do you always make me throw up?

"This never happened," I said drunkenly as I ran into my teacher outside the bathroom door. He saw everything, watched it unfold and climax and end.

In the car ride home, I felt strange. I was calm, but part of me wanted to punch something really hard. I wanted to watch something break down and explode. Crash and burn.

We stop at a red light and Conrad turns to me. I know it was probably like looking into a mirror.

"Fuck em."

I couldn't have said it any better.

your victim flies so high

Lately I've been watching bigger, scarier things consume smaller concerns that were lingering close by.

Like moments with my mother that make me realize she is losing it.

I sat in my bathing suit and looked at her. She looked as frazzled as ever, mumbling things under her breath and chain smoking her 305 cigarettes. "I hate these things, I miss my Camel Silvers. . ." And she'd continue with similar comments so low that they were incoherent. I was feeling just as crazy, so there was this mutual hysteria in the air between us. She was worried, I was anxious.

And it was Easter.

I pointed out a caterpillar on the stump outside the patio. Her eyes lit up like a child's.

"Oh! Those are bad, I sat on one once and it stung me," she started to hum lightly before continuing. "But that's okay, they turn into butterflies and I love butterflies." I laughed hard. One of those uncontrollable laughs that starts at the pit of your stomach and soars out past your lungs and through your throat. A bellow.

My mom giggled and continued to hum.

This was normal, this was my life.

Or today in the car with my grandmother.

"Has your mother ever apologized for leaving you?" The air escaped my lungs quickly. I looked at her, and she looked back at me innocently and curiously, like the question was something easy to bring up.

I thought really hard and recalled the instance she was asking about. I wanted to explain, wanted to rationalize the idea of what she was getting at, but I felt no need to.

"She hasn't apologized for anything," I simply replied as I pulled away from the sushi bar I had habitually been going to for almost six years.

She was silent and so was I. That's what I loved about her, once it was out in the open, it never had to be put away again.

The silence was closure, the open door slamming shut once again.

still life: tools

the bridges are burned by now

Remember the first time you got a cellphone?

I definitely do. It was for emergencies only at first, back in 2003: I was in 6th grade and received my mothers hand-me-down Nokia. At the time, it was the bees knees. It had that game snake. I didn't have texting, and there was no camera on it. It was really heavy and ended up in the toilet a few months later at some movie theater in the middle of nowhere, FL. My mom was pissed.

Today I got a call from a random number. The area code read 386- Volusia County.

I answered.

"Lauren, this is my new number. Delete the other one and don't give the new one out," said a voice on the line. It was that simple. Barely any more words were exchanged before I hung up and quickly made the changes as directed.

The only other person who could get this correct immediately was my brother. It was either the guy I buy weed from when I'm in Daytona, or my mom.

You think it'd be the young guy that sold pot and moved around from beach house to beach house all the time, but no.

It was my mother. I think in the past 6 years, that woman has had her number changed over five times (two more recently).

Would you believe me in all of my years of middle school and the tumultuous years of high school that now, today, I still have the same number eight years later?

At least once a year there are instances where old friends from high school will tell me they still remember my number and that it was one of the few phone numbers they felt as if they'd always remember.

The only one I can think of that I've kept in my brain permanently is the house number of my childhood.

(386-677-5357)

I still get discounts from Winn Dixie with it.

I asked my mom about it once. She got it wrong, got frustrated and then gave up and lit a cigarette.

I dream of days where my mother and I can switch roles, where for once the roles are where they're supposed to be:

she's the parent and I'm the kid.

2: in the middle of a small town where friend and enemy sleep with one another

Miraculously, six very stoned kids made it to Ichetucknee Springs: Conrad drove, I was on direction duty, Danielle and Madison were in the middle doubting us, and in the back, Evan falling asleep on Alexis. We drove through a small town called High Springs, a place not too long ago I passed with you. Swallowing the nausea, I looked forward to the blue water and sunshine.

There was some rain and confusion, but finally we made it there beating the crowds, heat, and clouds.

"Let's just jump in," I told Madison. Richie told her to not feel the water, but she didn't listen. And then the fear started, the fear of the 72 degree water that was about to completely consume all of our bodies. Conrad finally dove in. I went next. And then Danielle and Madison followed.

It was like breathing fresh air for the first time, or turning the fan on after sex, or a cool menthol with hot coffee: refreshing. So absolutely and purely refreshing.

Every one wore smiles in the beautiful, clear water as we swam around.

It was the first time I wore my new bathing suit anywhere outside of Daytona Beach. It felt liberating and revealing at the same time, something I felt unsure of until something I caught at Blue Hole Spring.

This was a smaller spring after a little walk, just as beautiful but not as clear. It was dark and mysterious- everyone immediately feared this spring. We fear the unfamiliar.

Before I jumped in, I saw something, or maybe I made it up- I caught him staring at me with this smile on his face. It was serene and close-mouthed.

And then the feeling of being unprotected and insecure disappeared as the cold water enveloped me. It felt so good, better than the first time.

The climax of our perfect adventure: I was caught with a beer in my hand.

I was not of age, the officer said.

He asked for my social. I couldn't remember it.

He asked about my education.

He checked my records.

"I'm a student, sir, and my records clean." He never stopped being an asshole, but I never got a ticket.

Fuck the system.

The drive home was relaxing; everyone was quiet except for the CD I put on. It was the CD that reminded me strongly of Conrad for no apparent reason.

He enjoyed listening to them as we shared the last beer and cigarette; I enjoyed the sunshine on my toes.

We walked later that night with Claude on a route that I don't think I'll ever be able to find on my own, some circle that threw me off my direction and knowledge of Gainesville.

I have never seen lightning bugs in town, and the ones outside I've only seen at dusk while camping. But there they were after nine PM, flying around in this dark patch of woods we came across.

He caught one, we marveled at it, and then he let it go. I stood there with my mouth halfway open as he walked away like it was nothing. A few minutes passed and I looked back at the dark area: each bug could be seen sparkling like glitter coating the nighttime.

"Well, that was sort of magical," I heard bewilderment in my own voice.

"Yea, I'm just romantic like that I guess." He chuckled.

I believed it.

1: how long since she grew her hair to keep

Madison was drunk, Evan and Alexis were glued to the couch, Aleacia was distant, Richie was raging, Allison and Dan were ready for anything. And me? I was thinking too much to enjoy what was in front of me.

Basscamp was more loud and crowded than usual- Pillager killed it, dropping the hottest new vinyl. Though something felt like it was missing. The empty feeling dissipated after we left and decided to show my little brother midtown: drunk pizza, The Swamp, Pita Pit, The Grog. You name it, and it was swarming with drunk college students. Evan couldn't believe it, couldn't get this goofy look off his face as he watched girls in expensive dresses and heels pull each other around by the wrist. To me, the moving bodies were just a big mass of the same thing in different colors.

We walked into Pita Pit- it was a shit show. There was dubstep playing quietly behind the rest of the noise. I immediately felt better after seeing Conrad's friendly smile at the register and watching a girl fall out of her chair with a large burger in her hand. Dan and Allison showed up with drunk pizza. Evan downed half of a pita and then went straight for drunk pizza with Alexis's hand in his. I wondered if he feared the crowds of drunk students, I thought, as I saw him squeeze her hand tightly.

Allison and I were being girls. And she told me of her observations. Their stories made me smile, especially after I witnessed them.

Like the last weekend before, I ended up at the boys house to meet Madison, Richie, and Taylor. Ben and Danielle were absent. Allison and Dan were on their way. I decided to finally relax, hit the pipe with Taylor, and smacked the bag of wine a few times. Instantly my bones loosened. Kisses were heard in the corner, people came and went from the room, and then Danielle joined us. Somehow, we ended up watching Intervention, and then he showed up.

We fell asleep on the same couch again in different places, TV blaring Reno 911, after 6 in the morning. I woke up to Ben coughing his lungs out and Conrad making sleep noises before joining Madison on a bed.

"Don't judge me," she said.

We laughed. Her blue eyes had never been so wide.

here's to the nighttime and the ways

I've thrown up in the bathroom at Mars at least four times. I'll sneak off, get rid of what my body can't handle, and walk back into a conversation like it never happened.

I did it last night- I must be getting good.

Mars feels like home. It's like a family of familiar faces, each smiling and caring. And it's not that fake kind of care either- these people are genuine. They'll remember your face and sometimes your name, if you're lucky. It's perfect for when you want to sneak off from a nightclub, hot bodies, high priced drinks, and loud music to a familiar, more quaint spot.

The Atlantic is the place to go on Thursday nights, a melting pot for the flamboyant and individually unique. The crusties with their huge septum piercings and metal studded denim jackets. Or the indie fags that jumpstart the dance floor alone until more drunken, confident people flood in. The group of cute artsy girls in stylish dresses and boots. Metrosexual men that seem to dress better than me. And then there are always the couples: two people you can observe and tell when their in love, lust, or just there together, enjoying each others company through music and alcohol. Free beer if you're 21!

After our trip to Mars and witnessing a trashy fight outside of 8 Seconds, Conrad and I walked back to the Atlantic. It was packed and upon walking in I immediately felt sticky- everyone was sweating. The dance floor was packed. I plowed into it, blindly searching for Dan and Allison. Hands, elbows, and fingers were every where, all over me, in the air, intertwined. And then I found them and we danced. Everything around me was making me smile uncontrollably. The music and atmosphere- even the heat. The last song was starting.

Again like last weekend, the sexy song played loudly, uplifting me instantaneously: Wolf Like Me. This time, there was no nausea. And this time, I didn't have to leave the room.

I sang and jumped and screamed. Everyone around me did the same. I watched as Conrad came in from outside, threw himself into the crowd, and then I lost him. I didn't see Ben and Danielle anymore. Dan and Allison were in sync like always, always on the same page. I tried to stop grinning. I gave up by the time the song ended.

We walked out of the nightclub desperate for fresh air. I ran into my teacher. He was as sweaty as I was and I wondered if he was in the mass of moving bodies as well. I saw two other people I knew that night.

Gainesville is becoming a small town, and to me, that means it's becoming home. I'm meeting people, and those people may know each other, and everything and everyone is interconnected through happenings or accidents. Weak walls crumble in order for stronger ones to be built. Things simultaneously fall apart, but amazingly, they always piece back together like a puzzle.

The puzzle is starting to look beautiful.