Stephanie Martin

Meet him on a random Tuesday night when nothing in your world makes sense.




Sometimes, loving me will be hard; but I promise you, that all of this chaotic madness will all be worth it when we see each other again.

Remember that there is no our. There is only you, and there is only him.

You will meet me at a bar unexpectedly on a Friday night, and I will feed you a mouthful of reasons as to why we are not compatible.

Let denial become your middle name. Feed your insomnia by writing about him. Create shitty art in the name of being honest.

Settle down with me so that I can hold you when the world proves to be too much.

We are on your rooftop and you are looking at me with a pair of brown eyes that twist bullets through my flesh.

This is how I think of space: This space is filled with the memories of you.

I remember you because I am scared of forgetting. I have already forgotten life before I met you, and I am scared that this will be the same.

We danced with fire and prayed that the flames wouldn’t burn us alive. But I let your carefree words burn stars into my skin, and I let you feed me plans for a tomorrow that would never find me.

I will keep looking at them while you go through the checklist of things you need to bring. I will note how I am not on it and feel the cracks under my ribs escalate with every beating pulse.

I know how it feels when the weight of darkness crashes down onto your chest in the middle of the night, and how you wish things would stop spinning because the axis seems tilted now. I know, love, I know.