Forgive Me, For I Am But A Dainty Sad Girl

Oh! I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there. I was busy looking for the moon. I’ve been really into writing about moons recently. Moons and Brooklyn rooftops and peaches and Himalayan salt blocks and Jeff; who asked me not to talk about our sex life in front of his parents, which made me cry for two hours this morning. I did end up talking about it in front of his parents—but forgive me! I’m just your local Sad Girl.

You like my turtleneck? Thank you. I have 14 of them, all in different shades of black. When I cry on the bus (which happens whenever I see an old couple together in public), I like to pull up the neck of my sweater to cover my entire face. Then I clutch my Fjallraven Kanken backpack to my chest (but carefully, as to not crush the 348 fresh daisies I have in there at all times) and weep loudly. This turtleneck you just complimented is literally drenched in my tears. Forgive me.

You just went on vacation? My dream vacation would be Saturn. I love space vibes and I feel like aliens would enjoy me. I wonder how many aliens are Virgos too. I’d definitely bring my poetry book into space—it’s empowering because I use the full names and social security numbers of every boy who has ever interacted with me. I am in love with all of them and I always will be. Sorry, Jeff. Forgive me. This is just what I do. I am a writer and a poet and a Sad Girl.

No, I didn’t go to that party last Saturday. Forgive me—I really wanted to. I even bought new knee socks from American Apparel and organized all the photos I took of the sky in Iceland so I could show everyone and talk about how each one of them makes me feel. But as I was drinking my pregame drink of choice (red wine mixed with La Croix) out of a ceramic skull, I realized I needed to think about mortality and my existence and fate and love for a couple more hours, and then fell asleep knitting at 9pm.

The red wine got all over my sheets but I didn’t do anything about it until after I had re-watched the second half of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and cried because I remembered that the bees are dying. Forgive me.

I’d love to live in a treehouse for a year and a half. Or maybe Paris. Maybe a treehouse in Paris somehow. I have the perfect face shape for a beret and am always looking for a good excuse to climb trees. I also want a dramatic excuse to break up with Jeff. I think he is suffocating me, creatively. And he won’t try matcha, even though I know he’ll like it.

I think the French would just get me because I am almost always oversharing and externally processing my feelings. Especially in public.

We should get coffee sometime. My favorite way to whisper secrets is over a cup of coffee. Especially while eating macaroons. Have you ever heard of Ladurée?

I will 100% show up late to our coffee date though, just so you know. Like, even if you are running late, I will still be later than you. I’m already anticipating that I will be feeling a lot of things the morning of whenever we decide to hang out again. You must forgive me.