Cold.

Please, if you see me hug me sweetly. I do not care if it is romantic or platonic, hug with words of love and adoration as I melt in your embrace.

I will always return it tenfold, but as of the moment, let me be selfish and ask for these things from you.

A collection of important memories, my personal intimate ones, and the mundane little things,

By, Eve

Remember me in a sweet light. Please, I’m practically begging, no matter what I do, please know I love you, and don’t let me ruin our precious memories. Even as I spill myself onto these words, please know that I will forever love you, and hate myself till the end of time for never telling it enough.

By, Ash

Dedication:

My love, my dreamer and drifter. 

You are my M, even though your name starts with an S. Do you remember? All those nights ago when you captured the memory of me with her, talking lovingly? I like to think you remember my name, I certainly haven’t forgotten yours. It still clings, it aches and it urges me to go rabid and mad till I see you once more.Your voice is long forgotten, yet I think it sounds sweet and gruff. I can almost hear your words. Almost.

Is this what love feels like? Can you be considered my first love? Or is this an obsession of mysterious admiration?

Well, even if I go insane, I will trade my lungs and my heart to relive that memory of serenity over, and over till my bones are brittle and my cheeks wrinkly from joy. This memory is forever perfect and untainted without bitter biases and emotions.

What is only left is attachments.

Without you I would have not written this, you picture the stars and remember their beauty as you talk so fondly of them, but you are my star.

Please find me if you read this, I am not sure of the name I have given but I remember yours.

One day, let me ruin that precious memory and let go to make new ones. As always I am the poet, look for me, Sam.

- Whatever name you remember, the black haired girl from the beach at 11pm on Tuesday.

Prologue: The inspiration for Chaos

Everything seems bleak.

In this world in which I roam, I cannot even call the house I live in ‘home’. How long does it take for you to call a piece of property my humble abode? One year? 3 months? 2 decades? I’ve never known.

The only places my control seems to seep in is my bedroom and my own body. In the bathroom I am the water flowing down the drain, my tears mixing in with the shampoo on my hands.

I cup my cheeks, fat with youth. Everything looks bleak, even the bright neon colors of the buildings below swirl and blend in with the night sky. Everything is bleak, till the wind kisses me sweetly and the stars dance around me.

The harrowing, nightly howls and the wind meets the delusion of melody in my ears. I am happy, once again.

A peak

What is love? I like to think it is being able to look at the ceiling at night and not see or hear the agonizing screams of Guilt, only sweet solitary silence as you await the next day. My mind is always filled with short and sweet thoughts and agonizing questions that seem to plague me.

Is it painful to live mundanely?

Or is it better because you get to anticipate a few events, yet live a life content with what you have? Why couldn’t I be mundane?

Nonetheless, here I am. Standing under the overbearing sun, it’s rays shining down on me as if it wants to beat me with a stick. My white polo sticks to my back and I can seem to feel every strand of hair in my scalp.

‘I love living!’

Maybe if I repeat these words enough I might just believe myself.

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The food I consume seems to numb the nerves in my tongue, it’s burning the insides of my mouth and I can’t seem to find the will in me to spit it out. This is why I savor the cold, forgotten food in the fridge.

I like to think it's like me.

I wonder if it's hard to love me, someone so brash and rude. Someone so self centered, someone who’ll give everything she has, someone who’ll paint herself in pitiful light just so you could just spare a secondary glance. Someone who complains even though she has all she needs.

Sing, I remind myself.

Is it bad to be selfish? Is there a certain degree of selfishness? An unspoken line which you cannot cross and will never be allowed to, unless wanting to suffer?

I like to think selfishness is what makes us human.

Deadlines, Friend groups, drama and the release of summer seem to weigh heavy on my mind.

So this is the beauty of  Youth. What joy, what stress, what true loneliness this is.

I just need someone to listen, not even to care, I just need someone to be there and hover over me. Maybe I can seek comfort in the night, but I fear the loneliness it brings. I’m so contradictory to my own thoughts. It's hilarious till the point it's painful.

I’m afraid of breaking, and feeling the pain, even though I've grown so comfortable in its subtle reminders of its warmth. It's kind enough to hug me sweetly, to bring people to care for me. A conversation starter, a sad, twisted one, but an interesting one. Maybe I need the warmth and the comfort of pain,  because of the way it brings people to care for me. Maybe I need it so I’m reminded, so people are reminded that I’m here, waiting for you.

Or maybe it's to remind myself that I have a body and that I’m real.

When I bleed, I’m reminded that I'm something, that I’m a person, a person who can feel and touch and is obligated to live and exist. I’m so close to grabbing the knife, to make it slice my skin.

I am so close to falling off the edge, to stick my hand in the boiling water, to feel the razor slit my skin and lick my blood.

I’ve tasted blood before, mine is a little sweet, yet the overarching metal flavor stays in my tongue.

I want to bleed myself dry.

This world has drained me of my color, only leaving a cocoon of a child.

I need pain to ground me.

If I don't get hurt, I will forget. It's a reminder that I’m stuck here, till my warm, red blood goes stale.

Sometimes, I’m filled with if’s and what’s.

Some days, I feel love, I feel loved, I feel like I want to give love, to take love. On those days, I forget the mourning. I forget to mourn. On those days I’m simple minded, filled with childish thoughts, belly full with warm food shared with others.

But, after those days, I remember to mourn, to sing the sweet names of the loves I could’ve had. Singing the raspy melody of selfish greed.

Singing, and singing, till my eyes are hollow and my throat bare and dry. Taking the air from the world and giving it my hideous, and ugly tune.

Please remember the way I would laugh in your ears, hold your hands and kiss your tears. It’s been so long since anyone has ever cried in my arms. I miss its warmth and ugliness, it's disgusting feeling of the tears of someone else. To physically feel their emotion burst out on you like a thousand waning moons and the clouds heaviest rainfall.

I miss the feeling of being needed.

I want my voice to haunt your dreams. I want January 11th to be a somber day. I want that whenever you pass by a book you think maybe I would’ve liked it. I want that whenever you eat red velvet cake you scrunch your face and hold back tears. I want to be so loved to the point that when I leave, everything associated with me is looked at with hatred. I wish you would know what I feel, so you can see how much I need these silly selfish things.

I wish, I can only wish and want, so here I will beg. I beg to be loved.

As I spiral into the rabbit hole that is my insanity, I wonder.

“Did my mother ever love me?”

Or did she keep me because she wanted to create a woman who she could’ve been?