Snake.

Your voice, like acid, poisons my ears.
Sending me writhing and contorting on the floor.
You have this effect on me.
I can't control it.
I can't deny it.
I can't argue against it.
It's undeniable.
You are a snake.
Threatening to strike,
to maim,
to kill.
I am your puppet.
Defenseless to your charm,
your charisma,
you.


Bri.

Breakfast at Tiffany's.

Holly Golightly once said she had the mean reds. The mean reds are horrible.
"Suddenly you're afraid and you don't know what you're afraid of."

I feel like Holly.
I'm scared. Terrified.
And I can't pinpoint it to one specific reason.

Maybe it's the future that's looming just in front of me.
Maybe I'm afraid of losing you.
Maybe I'm afraid I'll never be worth anything to you.

But.

The future is going to come whether I like it or not.
I've already lost you, so I can't lose you again.
I'll never be perfect, and that's just a simple fact.

So, what am I afraid of?
Why do I wake up every morning with the "mean reds"?
Why do I carry them in my chest like my nervously beating heart?

I'm not sure.
I'm not sure of anything anymore.
All I know, is that I'm terrified.
And I don't know why.


Bri.

Choices.

Pulse beats. Erratically. Loudly. Threatening to tear the pasty flesh above.
Sweat drips. Every pore leaks, moistening the skin.
Crouch on the ledge. See the cracks. The crevices breaking the surface.
Only veins of yesterday. Of what was. What used to be.

You. You're faced with a choice.
Sit and stare at the creases of time. Pour over every possible mistake, memory.
Or jump. Free fall, leap off of the cliff.
Move on.
Live or die.
Perish or forgive.

The choice is yours.


Bri.

Maybe.

Maybe it's not always about trying to fix something broken.
Maybe it's about starting over and creating something better.
Maybe it's about learning to accept the past, no matter how hard it may seem.
Maybe it's about forgiving, but also about forgetting.

Maybe it's about cherishing the memories, but not dwelling on them.
Maybe it's about learning how to not feel anything whatsoever for you.
Maybe it's about erasing all the regret and guilt and shame.
Maybe it's about being strong, overcoming all obstacles simply because you need to.

Maybe it's not about you anymore.
Maybe, for once, it's about me.
Maybe this is how I'll finally heal.
Maybe, just... maybe.


Bri.

Infinite.

The best present is the smile you gave to me, I wear it all the time.
When I look back on the past, all the memories we have created.
I can't help but get creases in my cheeks.
It's instantaneous. Inevitable.
A knee-jerk reaction.

Every minute of every hour of every day spent with you, was special.
And I could never regret it.
Not even for a second.
So don't think that I don't hate the way things are now.

I regret the mistakes we both made.
Because we BOTH made them.
I regret giving up so easily.
Choosing my pride over you.
I regret losing you.
Losing a little sliver of myself along with it.

And I know that things are bad.
And I know that we will never, ever be the same.
And I know that we need to move on.

But I'll hold on to that smile.
Those memories you gave to me.
Because they're precious.
Just like you.
I'll cling to us, even if it's just a ghost.

I'll remember you.
I'll love you.
I'll always be here for you.
Always.

When I'm grown, and out of this school, and out of Manteca.
I'll look back.
Remember what we had.

And I'll smile.

:)

Bri.

Smiles.

It's amazing that something so tiny can affect me in such a huge way.
Two smiles.
17 muscles, coming to a total of 34.
Both shook me.
Both made me feel emotions I can't really explain.

Your smile.
Felt forced.
Didn't smile out of friendliness, happiness.
You smiled because you felt obligated.
Because we've been through so much
and now that we're over you need to be polite.
Your smile, was fake.
Just like you.

Your smile, on the other hand.
Felt real.
Your smile was genuine, completely, 100 percent.
Real.
Smiled because you like me, care about me.
Smiled because you wanted to.
Your smile told me that this connection, it's real.
I can trust it.

Your smile made me hate you all over again.
Your smile made me like you even more.
Your smile made those other 43 muscles appear.
Your smile made those 17 muscles form.

I'm not going to let your fake, plastic, lie of a smile get to me.
I'm going to be happy with the true smiles I receive.

As they say, it takes 43 muscles to frown, but only 17 to smile.

And this time around, I choose to smile.

:)

Bri.

Butterflies.

It feels like a butterfly inside your brain.
Fluttering its delicate wings, tickling the cerebellum.
Making you laugh, or smile so much it leaves creases in your cheeks.

It's like rain, falling in reverse.
Completely hypnotizing. You can't tear yourself away.
Can't focus on anything.
Besides the tingling sensations tucked away inside the nooks and crannies of your brain, of your heart.

It's like floating.
Balancing in midair, waiting to crash but never wanting to.
Being high.
Even when you're not.
You are.
Consumed by it.

That's what it's like when I think of you.

Bri.