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[ousb]

One thing that never stops hurting is that my family has accepted you and your flaws at every juncture—you are a part of us.

But no matter what I do or how hard I try, I will never have that place in yours. Maybe because they don’t accept you either.

There is little sense in trying to impress a family who lives in a glass house.

[ousb]

I did it. I’ve been clean for over six months. I didn’t think I could do it, but I did. And I don’t believe you when you tell me you will quit. I don’t believe much of what you say anymore.

You are much more than a lover. You are my family. But that’s the thing about family, isn’t it? You can’t help but allow them to break your heart. It’s an unconditional love.

Will I ever be clean as long as we’re together? Do we even know what that looks like? You’ve been high the entire time we’ve been together. Do you even know if you like me when you’re sober?

[ousb]

I can’t have made this up

[ousb]

I remember us post-coital wrapped around each other naked in your bed at your apartment off of Waupalani. Your roommates playing music in the living room and we were quiet. My tears were welling and a stray fell here and there. I still feel this bittersweet sadness.

It was all so bittersweet in the end. I think I’ll love you for the rest of my life somehow. It doesn’t entirely make sense to me, but it still feels like you were the love of my life. You did so many terrible things to me in the end. I know that wasn’t love, but still, somehow, you were the love of my life. I wish it could have gone on forever.

The love. Not the sadness.

[ousb]

You were in my dream last night.

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— Ernest Hemingway, The Sun Also Rises

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Janet Fitch, from her novel titled "White Oleander," originally published in 1999

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Anaïs Nin, from a letter to Joaquin Nin, featured in Reunited: The Correspondence of Anais and Joaquin Nin, 1933-1940

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Maybe you’ll find someone new who talks to you the way I do

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Joaquín Nin, from a letter to Anaïs Nin, featured in Reunited: The Correspondence of Anais and Joaquin Nin, 1933-1940

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If it doesn’t hurt, it wasn’t real.

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I will think of you everyday until the passing thoughts become lesser and lesser. I’ll always remember you fondly, just less frequently.

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I feel so assured I did nothing wrong. I used to beg for explanations and assume fault, but I have grown. Somehow it seems this is all there can be. I can only accept and move forward.

[ousb]

At the very least, I know the place I occupy in your heart and mind.

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Fyodor Dostoevsky, from a letter featured in "Letters of Fyodor Michailovitch Dostoevsky to his Family & Friends,"

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I still remember how it felt the first time we were together. I remember the nerves, the excitement. The way I suddenly felt sixteen again. The way you grabbed me by the hand and we giggled as we ran upstairs to the room. The way my hands were shaking as I started to unbutton your shirt, and the smile in your voice as you said it was okay, you would get it.

The thought of you constantly lingers. You had me at my absolute best. You saw me. You made me feel like the most important woman in every room. Sometimes, I feel like I would kill to have your attention again.

[ousb]

I have that feeling in the pit of my stomach again.