just enough.

she had

.

just enough

heartbreak

to make her wise

.

just enough

hope

to make her love

.

and

just enough

whiskey

to make her fearless

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addicted. 

Hi, my name is ____
and I’m      addicted
to days gone by.

the high:
memories, photographs
and the laughs
from the past-

I got hooked
on the good times
by living them,

jonesing for the
old days when
we were all just
existing together,

missing the ones
we lost
along the way,

getting through
the withdrawals on
“remember whens”
and “should’ve beens”

wishing [Thursday]
wasn’t the only
throwback
we’re allowed

an open letter to the friends who fade

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“The past beats inside me like a second heart.”  ― John Banville

To the friends who’ve faded:

Neither of us is really to blame for the fact that we lost touch. Time had something to do with it. Distance, life. Everything got in the way, despite FaceTime and iMessage. Although other friendships persisted for each of us, ours didn’t.

You pop up every once in a while on my Facebook feed, on Instagram. I see you went to London and he got a new puppy. She moved in with her boyfriend, and someone else moved farrrrr away. They got engaged, and that other couple we swore would make it crashed… hard.

I sometimes wonder if you’re happy, what your day-to-day life is like now. I used to be part of your day-to-day life. Remember that? The stupid, funny, lazy way we saw each other every day? In class, on the sidewalk, in the cafeteria… that was the norm. I wonder what we would say to each other now. Would you still let me steal your French fries?

How’re your parents? I think about them too.

I could message you or text you and say let’s get together and catch up, but we’re such different people now than we used to be. And what if reconnecting was somehow disappointing? Better to just leave the good memories where they are and avoid the risk of turning our once-friendship into an awkward encounter.

I guess what I really want you to know is that I liked having you in my life, even if you wouldn’t think so now. I’ll remember that nickname you gave me and the way you told off anyone who deserved it. I’ll remember the many cups of coffee we shared and the things we suffered through together.

We all just move forward and farther apart, whether we want to or not. The clock ticks and the time we spent together continues to fade away. Before it’s gone altogether, I just wanted you to know that I still think of you sometimes. I see old pictures of us together and I smile. I’d like you to live your life knowing that in whatever way I knew you, in whatever time, you mattered to me.

People grow, friendships fade- and they should. The friends you have in one phase of your life don’t always transfer to the next, and those friends aren’t always the best for you as you move on. But that doesn’t mean they were unimportant in shaping your life into what it is, into who you are.

I miss you, and the times we laughed together. I’ll always be grateful for those, and for how they got me here.

It truly was nice knowing you- cheers.

seeking scars

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“I don’t want to die without any scars.” -Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club

I think most people are too careful about the way they tackle life. They’re afraid of getting hurt, of being scarred. They tiptoe around the perimeter, walk on eggshells, hop over the cracks in the sidewalk.

I’ve got plenty of scars, and I’m not sorry. Some are visible. The one my cat gave me over winter break that has resulted in a few concerned questions because of its unfortunate location. The one on my knee from Girl Scout camp when I was 9.

Some are invisible. The ones left in my mind by the person who hurt me more than I care to admit years ago, the ones that took too long to live with. The ones in my heart caused by people I loved being ripped out of my life, both expectedly and unexpectedly.

Other ones caused by new people crashing into it, in the best and worst ways possible.

Some scars come in memories and dreams, continuing to leave their mark many years later. Photographs leave more than paper cuts as they dredge up the bittersweetness of what used to be. Nightmares haunt waking hours with what could have been and what almost was.

Getting hurt sucks. The process of acquiring scars is painful, but scars have a bad rep I don’t think they deserve. People don’t like scars because they ruin the perfect picture of a perfect life. They remind us that we’ve been in dark places; scars won’t let us forget our past.

But, should we? Should I forget that someone destroyed my heart or that it hurt when I lost someone? Can we ever really forget where we’ve been? The things that give you scars are, many times, the things that help you grow. I’d rather be reminded.

We’re too focused on living flawless-looking lives that we’re afraid of even the tiniest of scratches. The threat of imperfection becomes too much to bear. Taking risks becomes taboo to the point where I wonder if we’re living at all.

What’s the point of being alive if you’re not going to at least try to do something extraordinary, if you’re not going to come out a little beat up?

I’ll never stop seeking scars- not because I’m a masochist, but because I want proof that I took chances and went after life with everything I have. I don’t want to forget where I’ve been; it’s made me who I am. Never getting hurt makes for a pretty dull life story.

Sometimes I think you’re measured by the mess you make.