One That's Not a Story, But Rather the Truth

Because let's be real, the only semi-decent writing I've ever done has been to you. I sit around sometimes and wonder why writing to you has always been easiest and I guess it's because there's something to knowing that no matter what you did, someone had your back. You didn't care if I woke up and wanted to be a bitch to every person who entered my line of vision, you didn't care if I wanted to lay in bed and cry all day long, you didn't care if I wanted to spend the day outside rolling around in the grass with no cell phone, just to feel the sunshine. It didn't matter what I did, or who I wanted to be that day, or who I hurt, helped, or made happy. You were always there, no matter what, with that same look in your eyes. I wonder if you ever think back that far, if those are memories you even still have. Do you remember staying up all night, talking about any and everything. Movies, books, aliens. Do you remember when Andrea was around? How silly things got the later the clock went on. Do you remember our senior night. I made you sit with her because I didn't want her to be by herself. You told her about punching Eric in the face, you taught all about deep-throating hot dogs, a conversation I will never understand how that came into existence, Benji said he forgot we weren't already married and that she wasn't our kid, we literally watched your brother eat 12 plates of food. Would you look at my life now and be surprised? To see me in the exact same position as always. My life slowly going up in flames right in front of me. I swear I don't even try to fuck things up on purpose, but hey, maybe you already know that? Would you feel sorry for me for once, to see me actually being a tornado, not just a bad force in your life? Or would you laugh at your favorite disaster, back at it again? I'd tell you about everyone. I'd tell you about Tristan, he's so shy and somewhat awkward, he'd remind you of Zane. You'd love Lolli, everyone does, he's like your mom, seems like he's motherly and then pops off with ridiculously inappropriate shit. Travis, you'd like, he'd remind you of the people you hang with. You would love his stories. Alex would remind you of the person you used to be, quiet and reserved. You'd love my kids, they are incredibly smart, also slightly manipulative. They'd like you too. Is Bukowski still the great inspiration of your life? You know the thing that Bukowski and Fante fail to tell you is, regardless of the no fucks policy and managing to not spend any legitimate time in jail and calling it adventure, they were deeply unhappy people. Then again, all I've wanted is to be Lula and I still manage to find myself as miserable as them, so damn, maybe you're doing it right. Do you wish you had woken up from the hospital with no memory? The doctor said you could have had brain loss, if you had no memory, wouldn't things be different. You wouldn't need alcohol to run from yourself anymore. Do you think I'm cursed, New Orleans voodoo shit? Would you sit down and try to distract me? Lots of movies and food. Would you sit with me while I cried? Would you tell me it's okay to run and hide? Would you tell me to fight? Would you blame me? Or him? If I could have anything in the world, that's what I would want. Another human being, like you, who had my back no matter what. Who loved me, no matter what. Who could watch me cry, or ignore them, or be a bitch, or be happy, and never look at me any different. To truly be myself in my constant state of confusion and have that be just fine. I hope all things happy and good in your life. Always, and just for old times sake, drink one for me.

One From The Night Before She Ran

"Do you love me?" the blonde boy asked, face to face with Sailor.
"No." Sailor answered, not quite meeting his eyes.
"Do you fucking love me?" The boy asked her again.
"No." Sailor whispered.
In one, swift movement the blonde reached up with his hand, cupped her face and pulled him towards her, their lips meeting. Sailor felt every resolve she had break in that one moment. It was a kiss there was no coming back from.
"That's what I thought." he responded, forehead to forehead with her, both of them struggling for their breath.
"Shut up."

The boy kissed her again. Hard. They began walking backwards until he gently sat her on the bed. She sat there, looking up at him. The eyes that were always looking at her, while his mouth said nothing. The mouth that always spoke to her with so much passion. She reached her hands up underneath his shirt to feel his bare chest under her fingers. A motion she had ached to do for days. He reached up and pulled his shirt off to make it easier for her. Sailor took a minute to admire the tattoos in his skin and he took that moment to reach down and kiss her again.

One From the Story Where He Broke Her Heart

Sailor sat in bed looking at him sleeping beside her. The moonlight hitting his face and giving his dark hair a red tint. Why is he doing this, she thought. Why is he digging up something we had planted so deeply in faith? Oh, that's right, she thought, he doesn't believe in faith and laughed to herself. How do you come out on top with someone who is always testing you, trying to catch you slipping, waiting on you to give the perfect answer every time your mouth opens. Why is everything I do jumping through hoops, she thought. Why can't I, myself, my thoughts and feelings just be enough? Why is it always about being the version of me that is acceptable? Regardless of how hard I try to jump through those hoops and pass those tests, I'm always lacking the perfect move. What is it about me that is never enough? Why does he sit here and say he loves me and somehow makes me feel as if he secretly hates me? What did I do to make him this way? Why does he hate me so goddamn much?

One From the Non-Existent Book, Scattered Pieces of the Blonde Boy

Sailor sat on the bed in the moonlight putting on her shoes, her running shoes to be exact. Here she was running, again. She looked over at the man beside her, sleeping soundly, blonde hair falling in his face, the man she loved. She got up quietly and quickly exited through the door.

Kenzie and Sailor were laying on the bottom of Sailor's bed. "I think you're just running because you're scared. The two of you are too much alike and I don't think you've ever really had that. Someone who could understand the way your brain works, not just the words that come out of your mouth." 
"No. We're both natural disasters. It's like a tornado. Everyone knows they're bad and you should run, but at the same time everyone wants kind of wants to see the eye too. You can't take two people who are notorious for fucking up and place them together. They will be absolute chaos."
"Do beautiful things not bloom in chaos?"
"No," Sailor said. 
"What if two people are in love?"
"No."

 "I have a question?"
"Shoot," the boy say intrigued.
"Why aren't you scared to die?"
"Because this is it," he said. "Life has no reset button. I like the idea of living while everyone else is just sleeping, doing nothing, waiting around. I want to live, to fully truly alive. Come with me, I'll show you." The boy walked over, opened up Sailor's car door, she sat down and off they went.

One From the Story Where She Admitted the Truth

Sailor sat down beside Kenzie and Kenzie just looked at her expectedly waiting on her to begin. "I think some days I'll hate him," Sailor said. "What," Kenzie said startled. Sailor looked down at the new and shiny ring on her hand. "I had to give up the only thing that really mattered to keep him. I lost the one thing that mattered to me outside of him. I've come to terms with the fact that life is not a fairy tale. There will some mornings in which I wake, look over, and realize I hate him. I hate him for everything I had to lose. There will be days when everything I say and do is nothing more than pretending. I will pretend to be a good wife, I will pretend to love him, I will pretend to be happy. Don't get me wrong," her voice softens, "there will be days that are full of real happiness. Days that we are in love, days full of real things and real moments."