I wonder if you still read these.

Through all the rough patches and efforts put into becoming who you're meant to become, it shocks you how after a year or so can pass between two people and yet you get slapped in the face with nostalgia and uncomfortable feelings the second you make eye contact with them again. I didn't think the sound of your voice could get my blood pumping again. It's amazing how many people touch our lives in such vastly different ways. I recalled a time where you wanted to run up and down the streets of a woman and how implications were made that the woman was me. I grin at the thought of how 2 am meant more to us than anyone else at the time. The problem with all of these things is that I keep allowing myself to get lost inside my own head. Being able to let things go has never been a forte. A familiar sense of a heavy weight inside my chest plate arose and I kept conjuring up imaginary situations that would just make things okay. But, they never happened. I am trying hard to be everything I should: a person filled with love and energy. The clouds have been making love to the sky in a way that I feel like people don't really appreciate. Some people thrive on being inspiration for art. You've been doing this to me for quite sometime. And, its not even about you, really. Its every single little instance that happens that makes me question myself. I felt like I lost sight of whats important. But then again, what is important. I wanted my blood to boil and I wanted to be kissed after being slapped in the face. I desire your body heat and sweat radiating into a mix with mine until the only thing we can hear is the heaviness of each others' breath. Face to face, chest to chest. I want to hurt for a reason, for a cause, for a purpose. Fighting for something until it nearly kills me. And I'll stand up, with dirt on my face and blood on my hands and smile. Life is funny like that. Getting punched in the stomach at 10 pm on a white wine belly wasn't actually much different than driving home from your place at 11 am without feeling like I accomplished a goddamn thing. A few weeks ago I realized that some people will live their lives the complete opposite way that you think everyone should. But then again, who are you to dictate how others live? Some people make it hard to love them. Those are the people you cannot control but you have to find a way to love them anyway. For your own sake. I fell down a hole. I fell in it so hard I came out of myself and all I could conjure was your face for what seemed like hours. Your stupid face. I used to press my lips on that face. I want a connection to last and build and strengthen together, not strengthen apart. I glimpsed into something I thought would grow and the fact that it died instead made me sad. We all get over sad. But you'll still find yourself questioning whether any of it was worth it in the first place. The sounds from the speakers answer all those questions. The sounds pull you out of the holes, make you smile when you feel like you don't even have lips to use anymore. Every instinct to pull someone inwards towards your core has repercussions. We've had more history then I recalled. Someone recently made me realize that I very well might be a gem. Or at least, I deserve the right to become one. Why is it that you never actually stop loving people? And when you think you hate them...its actually only love warped into something else because we had no where else to put it. I no longer remember the feeling of the goosebumps on your skin as I slid my fingertips across it. You probably don't remember the smell of my hair I used to leave on your pillow. How much love can a person squeeze out before they become dry? The thing is- I don't even want to sit here at almost 2 AM thinking about you right now. That was always the time. But there's just this crazy notion in my head that we need to mend whatever became broken. Otherwise, why would you keep popping up? Ah- that's the thing. Life's funny that way. I want to be craved. To burn an image into your mind. I want you to see me in the light I deserve to be seen in. My tummy ties in knots and I want to cry but don't feel the need to. I want to turn it off, I want to press a button. But I suppose the torment is what makes me human, and I guess that you are too. We're not so different you and me.