“you know those girls everyone loves to shit all over? the ones who really fucking love something? those girls, man. they take all that energy, all that circulating fire in their veins, and instead of letting it destroy them, they choose to love, ferociously. be it a band, or a book, or a series of films. they do it to keep themselves sane, and yet we mock them for it. teenage girls find a buoy for themselves in the sea of emotional ruin, and they hold on tighter than anyone else.”
“it’s a road movie, a double-feature, two boys striking out across america, while desire, like a monster, crawls up out of the lake with all of us watching, with all of us wondering if these two boys will find a way to figure it out.”
“i. i was the first person to teach you that love was not always a white light to a ship lost at sea. ii. n my worst days, the sky was a festering wound that wouldn’t heal. i didn’t want to be that to you. iii. on my worst days, you were the only word i could say without clenching my fists. iv. i really did love you, i just couldn’t claw my way out of the ground to do it properly. v. none of this was your fault. vi. i’m sorry i was your lighthouse. i’m sorry you couldn’t see the wall of rocks on my shore.”
“he had green eyes, so i wanted to sleep with him. green eyes flecked with yellow, dried leaves on the surface of a pool – you could drown in those eyes, i said. the fact of his pulse, the way he pulled his body in, out of shyness or shame or a desire not to disturb the air around him. everyone could see the way his muscles worked, the way we look like animals, his skin barely keeping him inside. i wanted to take him home and rough him up and get my hands inside him, drive my body into his like a crash test car. i wanted to be wanted and he was very beautiful, kissed with his eyes closed, and only felt good while moving. you could drown in those eyes, i said, so it’s summer, so it’s suicide, so we’re helpless in sleep and struggling at the bottom of the pool.”
“i am not the first person you loved.
you are not the first person i looked at
with a mouthful of forevers. we
have both known loss like the sharp edges
of a knife. we have both lived with lips
more scar tissue than skin. our love came
unannounced in the middle of the night.
our love came when we’d given up
on asking love to come. i think
that has to be part
of its miracle.
this is how we heal.
i will kiss you like forgiveness. you
will hold me like i’m hope. our arms
will bandage and we will press promises
between us like flowers in a book.
i will write sonnets to the salt of sweat
on your skin. i will write novels to the scar
of your nose. i will write a dictionary
of all the words i have used trying
to describe the way it feels to have finally,
finally found you.
and i will not be afraid
of your scars.
i know sometimes
it’s still hard to let me see you
in all your cracked perfection,
but please know:
whether it’s the days you burn
more brilliant than the sun
or the nights you collapse into my lap
your body broken into a thousand questions,
you are the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen.
i will love you when you are a still day.
i will love you when you are a hurricane.