dear x: titanium

dear x,

at some point last spring, you saved me. maybe it was drinking all of my mini rum bottles that i bought in oregon after my grandmother's funeral and swaying on the sidewalks downtown. maybe it was taco night and tamarind margaritas at the matador. maybe it was the open invitation to crawl into your bed after dodging your apartment's particularly aggressive sprinklers so i wouldn't have to think about him-- or the lack of him.

i woke up once and you were reading a book about running. it was probably like 5 am and there you were chillin shirtless in bed and focused on the words in front of you. in spite of my sleepiness, i observed and appreciated the calm beauty there that morning with you before closing my eyes again.

we shared lots of smirks, jelly beans, stories of our exes, mountain dews, idle threats about jumping off bridges, and walks across campus in the dark. the nights spent sprawled on your couch or your roommate's bean bag chair (was it really necessary to curl up against you in a squishy chair in order to watch british "top gear"?) are welcome breaks from the silence, even though i still can't determine why i lack relationship-level feelings for you. i don't expect you to understand why, but i'm writing you this love letter to say i appreciate you.

and your warm bed.

love,
a.

ghost town and haunted love