3am-phonecalls - Tumblr blog

[3am-phonecalls]

He loved in a way she’d never had the divine privilege of experiencing before. He loved with his eyes, with his touch, with his words and his actions. He loved wholeheartedly and unabashedly. He loved like that was the only purpose of being put on earth and sometimes she thought that too. Most times though, she just thought that being loved by him was the only way to be loved.

[3am-phonecalls]

He opens his mouth to speak but can’t bring himself to form a cohesive thought much less vocalise it. He just hopes this moment lasts forever. She smiles easily at the sight of him and raises a hand to cradle his face. He moves into her soft touch, nuzzling against the warmth of her palm without really thinking about it. It felt natural, it felt right. Like that was how it was always meant to be.

[3am-phonecalls]

the world could be burning down around me and i’d think it was the warmth of her aura when we’re inches apart

[3am-phonecalls]

night shift by lucy dacus is actually EO coded and in this essay i will-

[3am-phonecalls]

do you randomly think about the online friend you had when you were 14 who was half your life and now you don’t even wish each other happy birthday anymore but you still think of them when you listen to that one song from that band they loved, or were you not a teenage girl

[3am-phonecalls]

don’t let me be a memory you reminisce on when you’re 85 and full of regrets.

[3am-phonecalls]

I knew I loved her then, as an infatuated kid drenched and overheated under the blazing summer sun, but I swore I’d love her till I was old and grey. When the rivers freeze over and I watch as she effortlessly skates over the ice, her eyes locked with mine and I’m reminded how lucky I am, to be omitted from the possibility of ever falling out of love.

[3am-phonecalls]

there’s truly no greater rush than being 15 and hitting 100k reads on your pg-13 fanfiction you worked on every day after school

[3am-phonecalls]

i stand there, by a headstone holding numbers with too little years between them. the umbrella shakes in my grip. it’s friday evening, your most beloved time of the week when you could forget about the impending doom of adulthood responsibilities. i bend down to place a kiss to your name, the tear that slides down my face adds to the water on the stone. i chant a mantra in my head, grief is just when love has nowhere else to go. i stand up and imagine your face. i only think about how you would love the rain.

[3am-phonecalls]

on the tough days i stand in front of the mirror, looking my reflection dead in the eye. bloodless knuckles turn white as i grip my sink, telling myself that i’m okay. i don’t fear an empty bed. i am not afraid to walk this earth alone. except i am. except when my alarm sounds in the early hours of the morning and i blindly hit snooze, i still turn and reach my hand out to wrap around your waist. despite everything, i still cling to the ghost of people i thought would hold me at the end of the world.

[3am-phonecalls]

i hope that the light at the end of the tunnel comes from the glow of your bedside table. i hope at the end, i get to lay with my head in your lap as you read your favourite book to me and explain the notes in the margins.

[3am-phonecalls]

The sky is dark and rain drips down my chin; I don’t care. My sister has just given birth to her son, my nephew, named after me. His eyes are big and soft, his lungs loud and relentless. My wife holds him in her arms, giving my sister some much needed rest. His stubby little arms reach out to me and my chest aches. I am so in love, nothing else matters.

The sun is bright and beads of sweat roll down my forehead; I don’t care. I have just laid my wife to rest next to the tomb of my sister. They died 423 days apart: one in the cover of night, as swift and painless as possible; the other in the glaring light of day, gruesome and torturous, a 3 year long battle that has been lost. My nephew plunges his face in my chest, his tears stain my shirt. His cries rival the ones from the day he was born and my chest aches. I am overwhelmed with grief, nothing else matters.

[3am-phonecalls]

most days I feel grown, like a fully fledged adult, but sometimes I still feel like a little girl, hoping my shoulders will keep looking pretty in a dress but grow enough to accommodate the weight of the world

[3am-phonecalls]

when people wonder if I still think back on the arguments we had, I want to ask if they ever cut into rotten fruit just to see how much flesh is yet to be corroded

[3am-phonecalls]

The sun is setting. That is my only thought as I watch the blazing orb of heat amidst its descent for a night of rest. The arms engulfing my body are familiar and welcome, I take a deep breath and the woody smell of his aftershave fills my nose. It’s comforting, like the smell of the woods on camping trips I took as a child. He kisses the side of my head, soft and tender, then places the half-drunk bottle of wine back between my legs. I catch his hands and hold them closer, leaning back into his chest and closing my eyes. I think i love him. I know I love him. Even if I was thrown in a ditch, blind and deaf, I would still be able to recognise him. By the way his footsteps strike the earth, by the way his chest heaved and by the way his heart beats. I know because mine beats in succession to his, as if waiting for confirmation that he is really alive before I can bear to prolong my life. For if he were not here, I would crawl into the depths of the earth to find him, I would scale the tallest buildings to search for him. I would trade my soul if only i knew we’d be damned for all of eternity together.

[3am-phonecalls]

I would walk on water to reach the island where she lies. I would sing like a songbird and howl like a wolf if she requested. For her, I would set the world on fire and hold her by my side as we relished in the warmth.

[3am-phonecalls]

when he is old and asks me what the date is for the fifth time since lunch, what then? how do i pour my anger and my pain and explain away the pure rage i feel into a man who cannot clean himself. what am i to do when the man who hurt me most, who created me, who forced me to teach myself what unconditional love is, what do i do when he is nothing but a withering shell of a person. how can i place my sorrows and burdens onto the shoulders of the man i call dad.