Natalia Vela

tell her you love her, but tell her you loved me black and blue.

December, with you arrives the cold, and with it the quiet, the still, and with it the thoughts that turn dreams into a kind of horror. 

Tthe hangover began to feel more like a withdrawal from her. I didn’t understand what any of that was about.

was it misplaced affection? did you know i mistook it for medicine? did you not know too much processed love can ruin a person?  

i don’t give in, but three nights ago i said your name over and over until i could breathe.

40,000 feet above the ground and, still, I was engulfed by him. 

I hope you let go of trying to control everything.

There’s another world where I don’t feel like this. Where my heart fits into my chest right and I’m not terrified of anything that makes it feel alive. But I live in a world where I stopped being able to tell the difference between heartbeat and heartache. 

I wish I knew what you were saying. I wish I knew what you were thinking.

Am I dreaming? 

Cigarette smoke. That nicotine-stained thumb. Your second-hand mouth.

It may have been his hands tying the knot behind my head, but I put on the blindfold myself.

the answer is the same.

I can’t figure out which hurt more: loving you or missing you.

How do you explain something to someone else that you don’t fully understand yourself?

I miss you. He’s everything you are not, and I hate you, I hate you so very much.

I know I love you because what I feel for you sometimes is too much for my body to hold.

It does not matter how it begins. The ending is always the same.